


Timing

by Foreverwholockedme



Series: What Comes After [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Major Illness, Mild Smut, Parentlock, Sick Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 45,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverwholockedme/pseuds/Foreverwholockedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John finally decide to adopt a child. But as soon as they welcome their new baby, everything slowly falls apart around them and they try to find a way to cope with the struggles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’ll never forget the day you asked me that question. It was the one thing I would never expect to leave your mouth. It was a normal day. Well, normal for us, that is. We just finished solving a case, well it was mostly you, I’m just there to stare at you and tell you how wonderful you are, as you once told me. But it was a nice day, there was no rain, the sun was out and shining down on us and everything that was in its path. You look nice in the sun; I’ve never told you that. It was the usual; some bloke goes off the deep end and decides to kill somebody. They don’t ever expect that you’ll be the one on the case. We head over to the crime scene, Lestrade fills you in on the details, you, Sally, and Anderson have your little “chat”, and then it’s on to the body. I watched in amazement as you deduced the victim and how they died, what they did while they were still alive and where and sometimes who the killer was, and then I would say that you were brilliant and give you a congratulatory kiss. It didn’t even take you less than five hours to solve it, in hind sight, I think you solved it long before then; you just wanted a reason to go out with me.

We had nothing on for the rest of the day, I didn’t have work, and you were all out of cases. So there we were, walking hand-in-hand down the street, making our way to the park, doing nothing more than chatting about nonsense and how our day went, and making the stupid jokes we both found so funny. It was a nice day, so naturally, everybody was in the park. Everybody wanted to soak up the sun’s rays, it seems. This year is the one of those years where people decided to have a kid all at one time, which means we saw mothers and fathers walking past us with their children following behind them, if they weren’t in strollers, that is. You were irritated, so many people all cooped up in one area, you were never good with people. But I remember seeing your face as you watched all of the children laughing and playing with each other, I thought you were simply observing them, like you do with other people that you met, I was too busy admiring just how cute they can make everything look.

It wasn’t until we got back, it was getting late, the sun was already setting and we’ve had enough fun for one day. You looked distracted; you just sat on the couch and stared into space. Normally I would have just kept to myself because it wasn’t the first time you’ve done that, but I was worried. You smiled all day and so it was odd that you would all of a sudden just, mope. I made you some tea and then sat down in my chair, watching you watch nothing. I’ve always wanted to know what goes on in that big, beautiful mind of yours, but you would never let me.

'What’s bothering you, love?’

That’s what I said to get your attention. You always listened whenever I called you by one of your many pet names. Your icy eyes glanced over at me, and then you squinted. I knew you were thinking about me. Then, you opened your mouth.

'Would you like to have a child with me, John?’

I was caught off guard by your question, but I answered, even if it was sort of a clumsy response.

'W-What?’

You sighed; you were no doubt insulting me mentally because I couldn’t understand the question asked.

'I said’, you stated with a hint of annoyance, _‘_ Would you like to have a child with me?’

I still couldn’t fully comprehend. It wasn’t a question I expected to come out of your mouth.

'What brought this about?’

You looked confused. It’s good to know we were on the same page.

'Well it was always in the back of my mind, but I never dwelt too long on it. It wasn’t until I saw you staring at every single child we walked past in the park today.’

'But Sherlock, that doesn’t mean---‘

‘I know what that means, John. We’re not getting any younger, and I remember you telling me that you always wanted children. With both of us being the same sex, we won’t be able to conceive one together, so I thought that you would consider---‘

'Adoption,' I interrupted.

‘Yes. That or we could find a surrogate. I was thinking on asking Molly about the subject.’

As much as I love, you, Sherlock, you could never read emotions that well. Either that or you just didn’t care about them as much, which I know isn’t true at all. You thought that you were above all emotion, when you did nothing but feel.

With a sigh, I responded, _‘_ Sherlock, I appreciate you trying to do this, I really do. It’s nice to know you actually pay attention to me.’

You looked somewhat hurt when I said that.

'Of course I listen to you, John. Well, not all the time, but most of the time I do.’

I smiled. In so many ways, you reminded me of a child. But that wasn’t always a bad thing. It was cute when you weren’t in one of your black moods and sulked around the house.

‘Is this what you really want, Sherlock? I don’t want to bring a child into our lives if it isn’t something we both agree on. A child is a big responsibility.’

 _‘_ I know that, John. I’m not a child.’

I got you upset, but that wasn’t my intention.  But you let out a huff and then ran a hand through your fine curls that I have spent many nights tangling my fingers in.

‘I want you to be happy, John. And I’ve thought about this for a long while, after we got married, to be exact. And I’ve come to the decision…’

Your voice softened, that was a rare thing in its self.

'...That I would like to raise a child with you, John.'

You don’t understand how happy that made me. I did tell you  that I wanted a kid back when we first got together, you shrugged the idea off at first, you told me that you weren’t the “fatherly type”, and that there wasn’t room in our lifestyle for a child who could barely take care of itself. I agreed with you, because I knew that you were right. We couldn’t run around on cases and risk our lives when we have a child waiting for us at home. But that still didn’t change the dull pain in my heart of not being able to raise one. I was so happy, that I rose out of my chair and walked over to you. You’re so beautiful.

'It’s going to take a lot of readjusting in our life, I know, but I’m willing to work a few things out with you. But I’m not about to give up the cases, or my experiments.'

I wrapped you into a hug, which you were completely unresponsive to, it didn’t matter.

I chuckled.

'You understand that if we’re going to be bringing a baby into this flat, you are going to either stop experimenting, or find somewhere else to do it that isn’t here.'

You were silent for a moment because you were thinking. Then you opened your mouth again.

'I'll find a way to compromise.'

'Yeah, of course you will.'

But if I knew what lie in store for us, I wouldn’t have been happy for long…”


	2. Chapter 2

“…It all happened so fast. We were talking about bringing a baby into our lives, and then next thing we knew, we were already at an adoption agency, trying to find a parent that was willing to give up their own flesh and blood to another family. I was happy, I was finally getting the family I’ve always wanted, well, not exactly how I imagined it, but I was still very content with what I had. Not everybody gets the chance to fall in love and marry the world’s only Consulting Detective, who was downright brilliant too. The first few times we went to the agency, we were met with no suitable matches. As you know, we were discouraged, but something about read that you were somewhat relieved. You were scared, love, I know you were. I made sure to reassure you, we were going to be parents soon. There will come a day where we’ll welcome our child into our lives, and we’ll be so happy when that day came. You smiled, but I didn’t quite reach you yet.

The weeks flew by, and then turned into months, still no word from the agency. Even I was beginning to think that our hopes of becoming parents were starting to look slim, but I had to keep the morale high, or else you would start sulking around the house again. Just when I was starting to lose all faith in becoming a father, my phone rang. You were out on a case, so you weren’t around to hear the good news. They found somebody, a teen from the way she sounded, typical, a young woman who made the wrong choices and ended up the result of their misbehaving. I could relate because I was a rebellious teen, and I know for a fact that you were, Sherlock. The only thing that separated us from the poor girl was that we weren’t female, of course.

I was at work when they called me, and because I missed so many days trying to boost the positivity in our home, I couldn’t afford to walk out early. I told them that I was busy at the moment, but as soon as I was able to, you and I would take a trip to the building to meet the mother of our child. I wish you’d kept your phone on.

But as soon as the clock struck five, I raced out of surgery, and made my way to Baker Street as fast as I could. You were already home, you looked like you were about to change into your house clothes, and I’m glad you didn’t. You would’ve gotten upset if I told you to throw your clothes back on again.

‘John. What is it? Why are you grinning like the Cheshire cat?’ You said to me whilst sitting on your beloved armchair, fiddling with your violin as usual. You were puzzled by my facial expression, lately, that was starting to become normal.

I could feel the smile on my face widening as I started to tell you. There was always the underlying satisfaction of knowing something before you did.

‘I got a call today; it was from the adoption agency.’

That caught your attention.

‘They said that they found somebody that was willing to give their baby to us, Sherlock.’

You could scarcely believe it yourself.

‘W-What?’ Your face read unexpected shock, and it was priceless. You were never surprised about anything, well, besides my proposal.

‘We’re going to meet the mother of the child today, so come on, get up and put your coat and shoes on.’

You looked lost for a moment, but you snapped back into reality and slid your shoes on and grabbed your coat and scarf off of the rack. You turned to face me.

‘Are you coming or not, John?’

I was stuck in my place too. Your voice broke my daze and I gave a frantic nod. I must have looked like a lunatic to you, Sherlock, and I’m sorry for that, but I was excited. And in your own funny way, you were too.

We made it to the building in record time. There was no traffic that day, thankfully. I was well ahead of you, as you had to pay the cabbie, I ran out too fast. We both made our way down the long halls, with many men and women inside each of the offices, speaking with their own agents in hopes that they can start a family of their own too. An equal amount of them were same-sex couples, but I didn’t care, everybody deserves to be happy. We made it to the same woman we met all those months ago. She looked strict from anybody who didn’t know her. She had her brown hair cut into a bob, she looked good with it, and not many people could pull off the asymmetrical thing. She had honey-colored eyes hidden behind her rectangular glasses, and she wore a pant suit. When she saw us, she smiled.

‘Mr. and Mr. Holmes-Watson, please, take a seat!’ She motioned for us to sit down in the chairs propped in front of her desk. Well at least she wasn’t homophobic and completely heartless, right?

You were oddly quiet; love, but I understood the reason. You wanted to hear the news of our impending baby.

Her smile never faltered as she rose and sat on the edge of her desk.

‘You got my call, yes?’

I was the talkative one, that time.

‘I’m afraid the young lady that has agreed to give her baby up for adoption can’t attend our meeting today. She has an appointment, sonogram.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine, that’s good that she’s checking on the baby’s health,’ I interjected, ‘She’s a lot more responsible than many girls her age, if you don’t mind my asking, what is her age?’

Our agent, her name was Lara Winters, as the name on the desk read. She sighed and rotated her body to face her desk. We could hear her opening one of her drawers and fussing around until she found what she wanted. Her smile returned.

‘I have a picture of her.’

She slid a small photograph on the desk and we both inspected it. Old habits die hard, I guess.  She was a pretty thing, red-head, with tiny, light-colored freckles sprinkled across her face. She looked twelve, but she wasn’t. I couldn’t quite place her eyes, but when we met her, they were blue-green, you remember, right? Of course you do.

‘Her name is Susanne Smith; she’s coming up on her seventeenth birthday, which is in two weeks. Doesn’t have the best home life, her parents are never around, and when they are they don’t seem to pay much attention to her. She dropped out of secondary school, doesn’t have a diploma. She got mixed up in a bad crowd, made bad decisions; the child she’s carrying is one of them. She didn’t want to abort the baby, but she doesn’t want to keep it, she doesn’t want the baby to end up like her. She’s a smart kid, smart enough to understand that she’s not ready for a baby.’

I watched as you absorbed all of the information about her. You’ve always had the most attractive face when you were getting new information, more knowledge about a person, I could look at you for hours. I interrupted Lara while she was giving us the rundown.

‘What about the father of the child?’

Lara shrugged.

‘What about him? She told me that he was nowhere to be found once he heard news of the pregnancy. But from what I do know, he’s at least twenty-five years of age.’

We both had a reaction to that. Lara shrugged.

‘Like I said, she made bad choices.’

You finally spoke up.

‘She wasn’t raped, by any chance?’

Lara shook her head.

‘Nope, my guess was that he provided her with the things she wanted, drugs and alcohol, probably.’

You wanted to know more about her, you made that face.

‘She hasn’t taken any drugs while pregnant, has she?’

Lara didn’t know how to answer.

‘You’re going to have to ask her.’

She pulled a pen and paper out of her desk.

‘I’m going to give her a call later today, so you two can have a more…personal chat with her.’

My smile came back.

‘We would like that very much.’

I reached out and grabbed your hand. I was grateful that you welcomed the contact.

‘What’s your address again?’

You answered.

‘221b Baker Street.’

She scribbled it down on her paper and then turned her attention to us. She had a satisfied smirk on her face.

‘Alright, I shall be in contact soon. Have a nice day, gentlemen.’

‘You too.’ We both said in unison.

We left the agency that day feeling particularly proud. I never let go of your hand, I remember the only time I released it was when you whisked away to take a shower. You didn’t want the company. That night, as we curled up in the bed, I had pleasant dreams of you, me, and our baby."


	3. Chapter 3

“…Remember the day we met her, Sherlock? Not our baby, the mother of our baby. She came to our flat a week after we went to the agency. We weren’t the only clients Lara had. You were somewhat impatient while we waited for her, I know, I wanted to meet her as soon as we got the photo. She looked like she was a child, even more so than in the photo. Her hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, and her eyes, they looked hopeful. She smiled a lot, wanted to make a good impression, obviously. Her clothes were a bit baggy; of course it was because of her baby bump. She wasn’t that far along when she first met us, but because she was so small it looked much bigger. You never were the type to walk up and greet people; you were the one someone started a conversation with, when you weren’t deducing, that is. She took a seat in my chair, since I know you weren’t a big fan of anybody sitting in your seat besides you or Mrs. Hudson.

‘So you’re the great Sherlock Holmes.’ She directed at you. She was star-struck, as so many people, me included, were. Her voice was breathless; she couldn’t believe she was talking to you. That’s how I felt when we first started dating. I couldn’t believe that you would want to date somebody like me, and I’m sure the feeling was mutual between us.

You were in your usual position. Your hands were steepled underneath your chin, you weren’t paying any attention to us, and your long body was sprawled out on the couch. I hope you didn’t have any nicotine patches on. You were doing so well.

Your response was the usual, “Hmm” that you were so fond of when you weren’t interested in talking to anybody. She didn’t seem the least bit phased, which was a rare thing among the people who met you. I didn’t want you to chase her away so I took over the conversation, as I found myself doing most days.

‘Don’t mind him,’ I interrupted, ‘He’s not the most sociable of people so we’ll be the ones talking today.’  

Her eyes glanced back at you but then they returned to my own and her smile was warm. She extended her hand out and I gladly took it.

‘And you’re John Watson,’ She said to me. It’s nice that I didn’t get completely outshone by you. I didn’t mind, I wasn’t the attractive genius detective. Well, you were always beautiful in my eyes.

‘Yes, yes that’s me. I’m glad you could make It, Susanne.’ I was being extra cordial, just so we could look like a couple who could turn out to be great parents for her baby.

Our hands disconnected and she sank back into my chair. It is very comfortable.

‘I got the call from Ms. Winters; she told me that you two were looking to adopt my baby.’

My casual smile returned and I nodded in agreement. Her face was sullen as her eyes trailed off to her belly. She rested a hand on it and started to rub circles on it.

‘I’ve thought about it, for a long while. Don’t get me wrong, I want a baby, just…not right now, not like this.’ She told me as if we’ve known each other for years. As young as she was, and from parents who neglect her, all she needed was someone to talk to.

‘I understand completely and I’m very glad that you think that we would make suitable parents for your child.’ I told her with the straightest face I could muster. She blushed.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you sooner, but I had an appointment, sonogram, actually.’

She seemed nervous when she said that. I hoped that I wasn’t making her feel that way.

‘No, Lara told us and we understand. How did it go?’ I asked her, careful to show my eagerness.

She smiled.

‘Fine, the doctor said that she was healthy. I’m glad, I wasn’t exactly doing…the right things, when I found out I was pregnant.’

‘She?’ I inquired.

She nodded but then froze.

‘Oh, I’m sorry; did you want the gender to be a surprise?’ She was anxious.

I shook my head.

‘Not at all, I’m just…a girl…that’s nice.’

Her smile was sheepish.

‘Yeah, I guess.’

She was six months when we met her, I’m not sure if you were paying attention when she came over, you only said one sentence to her while she was at our flat.

‘Would you like to see her? I have a picture.’

I nodded excitedly and watched with anticipation as she reached into her jacket pocket and fetched a photo. I grabbed it out of her grasp, I didn’t snatch. God she was so pretty, Sherlock. Our baby, Kylie, she was perfect. Sure she was only a gray blob on a picture, but she was still beautiful. I know I shouldn’t have gotten so attached to a baby I might not have, but Susanne liked us. She told us so.

The smile on my face spread to Susanne. She was mature for her age, but she was an attention-seeker, which is why she ended up pregnant in the first place. I almost forgot she was there, and you too. I tapped your shoulder.

‘Wouldn’t you like to see your baby, Sherlock?’

You looked at me, and then finally your hand rose and I slid the picture into it. You stared at it for a long while, inspecting every element of it, but then you passed it back to me without a word. You didn’t need to tell me, I know you, and you were just as happy as I was. Susanne watched us with slight glee. At least she knew how bad we wanted it. She looked down at her watch and then started to get up.

‘I have to go now, thank you for having me over.’

I cocked my head, silently asking for an answer.

‘I have to go somewhere, and I don’t want to be late.’

I was suspicious, but I walked over to the door to save her trouble and to be polite. Once she made it to the hallway, she turned around and gave me a huge smile.

‘I’m going to tell Lara that I’ll gladly give my baby to you. I like you guys, I know my daughter will be in good hands.’

Words couldn’t describe how much that meant to me, you heard her, I know you did. She looked over my shoulder towards you.

‘Good bye, Mister Holmes!’

To my surprise, you replied.

‘Good bye Susanne.’

Then it was my turn.

‘Good bye to you as well, Mister Watson.’

She pulled me into a light hug. I felt her swollen abdomen against my own stomach and silently prayed for the baby to kick. But she didn’t. Guess she was sleeping at the time.

‘Have a nice day, Susanne.’

She flashed her smile at me again before making her way down the stairs. I shut the door and looked at you. God you looked so beautiful laying there on the couch, next thing I knew I was all over you, kissing you and gently nibbling on your neck. You tried to not give in, but you did, you always do in the end. We shagged on the couch that night, all the delight I felt from our meeting with Susanne flowed through me, and I wanted to make you feel the same. But that was one of the last few special nights that we shared together.

I miss them, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!


	4. Chapter 4

“…Those few months before Kylie came were a bit of a blur to me. All I see are the flashes of pink and other vivid colors from the baby’s accessories we bought, along with your unsatisfied face. I know that it wasn’t the fact that we were getting the baby, I mean you brought up the subject, but you weren’t a fan of all the shopping we had to do. But deep down I know you enjoyed picking out all the miscellaneous weensies that Baby’s R Us had to offer, that Minnie Mouse sleep suit you bought showed me that. For once in my life, I felt truly happy. Sure it wasn’t what I wanted exactly, but I’m still pretty damn happy about where I ended up. I would come back from work and see you sitting there or playing your violin, and then the box that held the baby’s crib in our room and I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

Every so often I would find you in our room, or in the nursery that was once my bedroom, staring at all of the decorations for our special arrival and processing all of your emotions and thoughts. I didn’t know at why at the time, love, but you seemed to be distant. At first, I just let you be because I know that you were feeling a bit nervous at the thought of a baby entering our home. Mrs. Hudson was extremely thrilled; she would spend more time in our flat than she ever did before, just being her usual self, except I heard the words “baby” and “parents” a lot more. I posted the happy news on my blog and the encouraging comments and praises that we got were overwhelming. Even Harry commented, she said that I needed to call her as soon as the baby was born; I was feeling zestful at the moment so I agreed, the both of you were surprised that I said yes but that’s my sister and this is her niece so I figured that I was doing the right thing. She even stayed sober just to see us.

Your attitude was quite different, love. You were withdrawn almost, don’t get me wrong, you were sharing my feelings of happiness and the anxiety that came with it, but you…I don’t know how to say this…you weren’t talking to anybody. Sure we had those little conversations in bed before we turned in for the night, but they weren’t the same, it felt like you were doing it more out of routine instead of the actual enjoyment and intimacy we got out of it when we first started. I was worried about you, something was clearly on your mind, you would just sit and space out on occasions and it would take for me or Mrs. Hudson to shout your name in order for you to even realize we were there, and even then you would sort of dismiss us. I tried talking to you, Sherlock; I would join you on the couch and give you soft kisses in your wonderful dark tresses, and then wrap my arms around you and whisper in your ear.

‘What’s the matter? You haven’t been like yourself lately.’ I would tell you every time you looked particularly dazed. You would respond to my touch, that was good, but you would never give me a clear answer. Your hand would lie on my wrist and you would give me a small smile to reassure me.

‘And tell me then John, how would I be acting if I were myself?’ You were always so sarcastic and snarky.

I shrugged, how could I describe you to…you?

I graced your neck with soft kisses and you did that purring noise that you always make whenever I grazed over your sensitive areas, your neck is long and graceful, Sherlock, I couldn’t help but spend my time drooling over it, over you.

‘You just seem distant, love, and you barely talk to anybody anymore. You would think with the news on our baby, you would be happy, or some variant of it. What’s wrong?’

I tried to tell you that you could talk to me, that you needn’t keep anything from me. But because you spent so long on your own and guarding yourself from the world around you, you decided to suffer in silence. I didn’t want that, Sherlock; you didn’t have to do that any longer. You didn’t answer me, instead you rubbed my wrist with the pad of your thumb and placed your soft lips on my own, it was only for a minute, a brief minute, but I always find myself aching for more.

‘It’s nothing, John, don’t worry about me.’ You told me with a soft voice. I had to believe you then, what choice did I have? If only I saw through you early on…

But I didn’t. I trusted you; you knew yourself better than I did; at least that’s what I like to think. I left you alone, that’s how you preferred it sometimes, most of the time.  I didn’t want to make you feel smothered, nor did I want to hound you to tell me what was wrong with you. I found myself wanting to do that often, Sherlock. To just grab you by the shoulders and shake you up a bit and yell at you that it was okay to tell somebody that you aren’t okay, you always thought that alone protected you, but no that’s not true at all, _I_ protect you.

During our late night conversation, the topic of conversation was sort of morbid. You decided that you wanted to cuddle with me that night, I was so grateful to feel the warmth of your body; I should never feel coldness where another body lays. I can still feel your long graceful fingers curling the short, blonde hairs on my chest as we talked. Your hair tickled my cheek, but it felt good. My hand stroked your back and I loved how you shivered as I ran my fingers down your spine. My lamp was off, but yours was still dimly lit, as you were reading when I entered the bedroom. I could see the bright colors of the crib that was placed across from our bed. I was getting ready to fall asleep, work was busy that day.

‘Can I ask you a question, John?’ I heard you whisper.

I kissed your curls.

‘Of course you can.’

You were hesitant, but I heard the deep rumbling of your silky voice.

‘If I were to die, like really die and not come back…what would you do?’

How could I process that? I almost wanted to ignore the question completely and huddle in on myself and sleep, but I didn’t want you to feel like you overstepped some sort of boundary. As much as I didn’t want to answer, my mouth opened and out spewed the words.

‘What would I do? Well for starters…I would be devastated. I would attend your funeral, again, and not say a word to anybody there. And then I would go home and shut up all of the curtains, and sit in my chair and drink myself into a coma or until my liver gives out and I die…’

I felt my eyes tearing up as I had to explain to you how much it would kill me to lose you for good.

‘I would never leave the flat. I wouldn’t watch telly, I wouldn’t do anything. I’ll spend the rest of my days bawling my eyes out for you. I would avoid anything that reminded me of you, because I’ll spend so much of my time imagining that you’re still here with me, and then to see a photo of you or anything else, I’ll lose it.’

I took a deep breath.

‘Because a world without you in it is a world I don’t want to live in.’

I was silently hoping, praying that you didn’t see the tear trickle down my cheek. I couldn’t think about that again. I couldn’t. You were silent too; you soaked up all of that information and began processing it.

‘Is that how it was when I was gone?’

I didn’t want you to bring it up. Those awful two years you spent away, away from me. I was so alone, Sherlock, and I’m sure that you were too. Nothing killed me more than thinking that you were gone from me. I opened my mouth, my lips were quivering, but I found the strength to answer.

‘Yes.’ I uttered quickly.

There was dead silence again. I felt your lips press against my scar, as I went shirtless that night, and then you moved to my lips. I thought we were going to shag, but you pulled away and then rolled over to turn off the light.

I was curious, and I had to ask.

‘Why would you ask me something like that?’

Your retort was, ‘Goodnight, John.’

I didn’t have it in me to press you, so I accepted that answer and drifted off into sleep.

It was restless that night.”


	5. Chapter 5

 "....The day Kylie was born...well it was a crazy day, to put it mildly. We were on a case, one of the last cases we ever took. Your mood was making me worried, so I gave Greg a ring and asked, well...more like pleaded for him to scrounge something up. Surely there was some type of crime going on, London's underworld was crawling with thieves and criminals and whatnot, they're like...spiders...they only live long enough to breed. There was Moriarty, but I don't want to get into that now. He's gone, you saw to that when you left, even if that meant leaving me alone. 

 

Greg told me that he was inspecting a string of robberies that have been committed by the same people, the Waters family, if I'm not mistaken. He's been trying to catch them for weeks. I thought that you would be desperate enough to take the case, even if it didn't have a murder in it. To my surprise, you agreed. I was right, you wanted anything to take your mind off of your crushing boredom, as you once told me. So there we were at Scotland Yard, getting the information from Lestrade. I made the mistake at looking over at you. You looked, distracted, like you weren't there. I dismissed it once again, I thought you were just soaking in the details, that seemed logical to me. Thinking back on it now, it would have been smarter to try and figure out why you were acting like that, but it's not something uncommon to me, I've seen you in those moods before, you would usually break free from that on your own. 

 

As soon as Greg finished speaking, you twirled about in that amazing coat you wore and walked out of his office, leaving me behind. I should've called you out on it, like I usually would have, but it seemed different, I felt like I could let this one slide, just this once. I followed after you, if you weren't aware of my presence, which I'm sure you were. Your mouth ran a mile a minute, something along the lines of 'bank' and 'daylight robbery' oh god, you are so brilliant. You deduced that they were already robbing a bank, and they were, right in broad bloody daylight. There was money being thrown about, some was stuffed into their enormous duffle bags, the stray ones, they were gently gliding in the air. You had no plan, I saw it in your face, the cops weren't there yet, so it was just me and you, as it always should be. 

 

You shouted, 'Bill Waters!' 

 

I had my gun ready, no one was going to hurt you, Sherlock. No one. I heard one of them whisper something along the lines of a curse, and then the shuffling of feet, I looked at you and we knew exactly what we had to do next. 

 

There we were, doing what he had done years prior when we first met, when we were both new to each other. Do you remember how it felt, Sherlock? Do you remember the adrenaline we both had pumping through our veins? The breathless laughter we shared as the wind crashed against our faces? The few minutes where our hands brushed up against each other, when we forgot, only for a second why we were running in the first place? I do Sherlock, I do. That moment was one of the last few times I saw your smile. Why didn't you smile more? 

 

The Waters family divided into two different groups, we were after the two main culprits, Bill and Mark Waters. If we caught them, then they would have revealed the identity of the others, easy. 

 

We were so hot on their trail, Sherlock, but then something happened to you. You stopped running and a hand flew to your stomach. Your face was scrunched up in pain, it's sad that I know that face so easily, huh? Of course I was worried, you're my Sherlock, and I'm your doctor, and your husband, if something was wrong with you, I needed to know. I stopped a few feet ahead of you and immediately rushed to your side. The Waters were gone, but I didn't care about that, your health and safety came first, besides I heard the sirens in the distance. 

 

'Sherlock, are you alright?' 

 

'What's wrong?' 

 

'Answer me dammit!' 

 

I asked you so many questions, but of course you didn't answer any of them. 

 

'Don't worry about me John, I'm fine! Focus on the Waters, they're getting away!' 

 

Figures you would get mad at me for asking if you were alright because you doubled over in pain in mid-chase. I was being irrational, right? Thankfully they were caught, and the other group as well. Lestrade looked on proudly as the people who have been evading their inevitable arrests were finally going to be locked up, and if I know him well enough, they were going to have a pretty hard time getting bail. You were supposed to be proud too, but you weren't, I thought it was because of me that you looked disappointed, that you didn't get to them first, I didn't want to ask. I watched you, Sherlock, I saw that you weren't even paying attention to the arrest. You were upset about what happened in the alleyway, I knew that much, but it wasn't because of me. It was because you were mad at yourself. 

 

If only you told me sooner, love. 

 

As if things weren't hectic enough, I got a call, it was from Lara, she said that she was at the hospital with Susanne. My eyes darted over to you, you seemed anxious as I talked with her. You wanted to know what the problem was, that our baby was okay. I asked, and to my relief, Lara said that the baby was okay. I asked her about being in hospital, and she told me that Susanne went into labor a few hours ago. About the same time we started the case. She wasn't supposed to be due yet, Kylie was going to be premature. 

 

We caught the first cab we saw to the hospital, and met Lara at the entrance. She took us to the room Susanne was in, but only I entered it. You waited outside and that was fine with me because you were probably scared, even though you wouldn't admit it. Susanne was gripping the side of bed in obvious pain, and her hair was beginning to stick to her face. She smiled when she saw me, and asked where you were. 

 

'He's waiting outside, he's not very good at stuff like this.' That's what I told her. She accepted the answer. 

 

I went back outside to find you sitting in the chair gripping the arms so hard that your knuckles were white. I simply laughed and took the seat next to you. You didn't even fight me when I pulled you into my arms, that's how worried you were. I stroked your curls and rested my lips on your head. I rocked you back and forth and whispered sweet nothings into your hair. 

 

'Don't worry so much, Sherlock. You're going to be greatest father, I know for a fact.' 

 

'How can you be so sure, John? All evidence points to the fact that I do not have the necessary emotional support to care for a child.' 

 

You could be so daft at times, Sherlock. 

 

I laughed and kissed your cheek bone. 

 

'That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come out your mouth, Sherlock.' I joked. 

 

I could almost see your face scrunching up. I had to explain further. 

 

I told you that you were the most human person that I had ever met, and that you were going to be a good parent because you were a great husband. It's true that you have...problems expressing yourself compared to other people, but so do I, so you're not completely alone. I told you that we would raise a child with the same intelligence as you, you snorted and said that one genius in the family was enough, and that you didn't want her to grow up like you did. I'm still sorry that you had to go through that. I wanted to reassure you, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Even though you showed me those small smiles and responded to my words, I knew that you didn't believe me. There was still something wrong that you refused to tell me. A part of me knew, of course I did, I'm a bloody doctor, but I think that I was waiting for you to tell me. I don't know why I expected you to say anything to me. 

 

I think I wanted to enjoy the moment. I dropped the conversation and kept you in my arms as we awaited the arrival of our baby. Of our Kylie. And from your silence, you wanted the same thing. 

~~~~~~

Kylie came into the world at 1:17am on Friday night. We were dozing off when Lara came to tell us the good news. We couldn't believe at first, it seemed too good to be true. All of this, Susanne, the baby, us becoming parents. It was sort of unreal. 

 

You sat up first and waited for me to stand. You didn't know what to think, I saw it on your face. You must have thought that you were dreaming. Me too, I pinched myself a few good times. I grabbed your hand and gave you a hopeful smile. 

 

'Time to go meet our baby,' I said to you. 

 

'Yes.' You responded. 

 

I held my breath as we entered the room. There Susanne was, she was absolutely exhausted, I wasn't sure if she was even awake. I wanted to take care of Susanne, that was the doctor in me, but the other part of me wanted to see my baby. Kylie Holmes-Watson. I heard the soft sounds of whimpering and immediately turned to face the source. 

 

There she was, she was in Lara's arms. 

 

'Would you like to see her?' Lara asked in the softest voice I ever heard her speak. 

 

I nodded and stretched my arms out for her. I was so careful, she was so soft, Sherlock. She was asleep, she had a long day too. I didn't know what to do, should I rock her? Should I start weeping tears of joy all over her tiny body? Or should I do what I was doing then, in that moment, and simply stare at her until my eyes started to water from lack of hydration? You were standing next to me, looking on fondly as our daughter slept. You had the tiniest of smiles on, which was okay because your eyes held all the emotion. You were so proud Sherlock, and you were so happy. Lara was attending to Susanne, who was trying to stay awake. 

 

'Would you like to hold her?' I asked gently. This was still her baby, even if she was giving her to us.

 

Susanne shook her head. 

 

'No, I don't want to hold her, she's your baby now.' she squeaked.

 

You and I both shared a funny look. But she had her reasons, and so we let her be. 

 

'What about you, Sherlock, would you like to hold her?' 

 

You nodded first and held your arms out. I was excited for you, I wanted you to hold her, I wanted you to feel her, to actually see her. But before I could place her in your arms, you retracted them and refused to take her. I asked you why you did that, what happened. You crossed your arms and told me that it was nothing. You were worrying me, Sherlock. 

 

I was going to ask you but I wanted to enjoy the moment of our new baby. 

 

'What's her name?' Lara asked from Susanne's beside. 

 

You and me looked at each other and smiled. It's the name we decided a few weeks back, I thought it was a bloody miracle because we didn't agree on any other name. I looked over at her, with the infant snuggled in my arms and said, 

 

'Kylie. Kylie Holmes-Watson.' 


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh the days after Kylie was born, they were something indeed, don’t you agree, Sherlock? Even though you weren’t big on sleep, I saw it in your eyes every time Kylie decided to wake us at insane hours of the night, all you wanted was one night of undisturbed sleep. I told you the day before we went to get her from the hospital that you would have to kiss your blessed eight hours goodbye. As usual, you rolled your eyes and scoffed.

‘From the time we spent with her at the hospital, she doesn’t seem to be much of a crier.’

How wrong you were.

She was lenient with us on the first night, which was good. But then she got comfortable and decided that every other hour she would wake us with her wails of attention or hunger or something else. You pretended that you couldn’t hear her, so it was always me rushing to save the day, or what little sleep we had left. I spent so many days going to work exhausted, that I forgot that I was at work for a while. Thankfully, my boss understood, and she even took the time out of her busy schedule to reminisce with me the days when she was a new parent. I didn’t care much, obviously, but she was my boss and we needed the money now more than ever, so I sat there with the fakest smile I could muster, and listened to her drone on and on and on.

I always came back from surgery to see Mrs. Hudson fawning over the baby, and a smile crept across my face each time. Not a fake one, Sherlock, a real smile, a genuine one. I was so happy that all of our friends were proud of our new addition. She was the star, Sherlock, our little star.

I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t show her as much attention as the rest of us was, in fact, you seemed to be invested in her the least. Don’t get me wrong, you showed her attention, in the sense that you would talk about her and smile whenever you were being congratulated for her cuteness, but that was all. This troubled me greatly, Sherlock, it just wasn’t like you. I know that you were happy to have her finally, to have the ability to hold her in your arms, to smile at her, to laugh whenever she did something that amused you. But you did none of it. If anything, you seemed even more distant than before. You wouldn’t hold her, you wouldn’t feed her, and you wouldn’t change her diaper, which I understood. It was almost like she wasn’t even there. I tried to ask you about it but you would just dismiss me and refuse any type of social interaction for an extended amount of time.

Mrs. Hudson came up to me and asked me if I knew why you were acting the way you were, and all I could do was nod and say, ‘My guess is as good as yours.’

But it was when you thought no one was watching, Sherlock. You would go to our room and if Kylie was in there, you’d stare into the crib and give her a smile. Not the fake smiles you were so prone to giving, but an actual, genuine, affectionate smile. This puzzled me, love, because you would never move to actually make contact with her, you loved her, but it was distant love. I provided the hugs and coddles for the both of us, nevermind Mrs. Hudson’s constant cooing.

Why didn’t you just tell me what the problem was, Sherlock? Why did you wait so long?

You would crawl into the bed with me after Kylie was put to bed, and you would hold me, but you wouldn’t speak to me. If you did, it was only because I initiated the conversation. You laughed sometimes, but your smile looked forced, like you did everything out of obligation.

And every night, just before we went to sleep ourselves, I would tell you three simple words.

‘I love you.’

You would give your beautiful smile and your cheeks would heat up.

All you would say to me is, ‘And I you.’  

Those words would make me so happy, even on my worst day.

Your odd behavior seemed to me a regular occurrence now, since it’s been going on for weeks now. I gave up in trying to get you to hold Kylie, no matter how much her bright blue eyes sparkled whenever she looked at you, I stopped asking you what the problem was, and I’m so sorry for that, Sherlock. I tried to move past it and act like everything was okay, because it bloody fucking wasn’t. You were in trouble, you needed help, and I just gave up on you. What a shitty, shitty husband I am.

It wasn’t until Harry came over, that I finally began to realize that you needed help. Remember that Sherlock? Remember how she sobered up just to meet Kylie? I’ll always remember that.

It was just like any other day on Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs cleaning and baking all at the same time, you were lounging around the house drowning in your own sea of boredom, as there were no cases for you to solve, not like Lestrade would have given you that many anyway. Kylie was priority then. I expected her, I had been expecting her for weeks, but she never showed up, she was either busy, or she managed to relapse. But this time was different; she was finally going to show up. No doubt you wondered why I was bouncing about the house like an eager puppy, or maybe you already knew and decided to let me have my moment. If that’s the case, then thank you, Sherlock. She walked into the flat, she looked different then I remembered. Older, sure, that’s what time does to people. She also looked cleaner, healthier, or maybe I wanted to think that she looked like that. She cut her hair, it used to be down to her back, but when she visited it was no further than her shoulders. She had bags under her eyes that the makeup couldn’t even conceal, and all in all, she looked so different. It made me sad, I think, to see her like that. Like a porcelain doll that was too valuable for anyone’s possession, cracked and chipped from the years it spent withering away from lack of love, and self-destruction.

She waved to you, but I don’t think you realized, you were lost in your mind trying to find some way out of your hopeless pit of boredom. Me, on the other hand was happy to see her, or maybe I was happy that she could finally see my baby, see how well I was doing while she was out getting wasted every other night. It’s cruel to think that, I know, but I’ve seen her do so many…reckless things, and then it got so much worse after Clara left her.

….Anyway, like everyone else, she dashed right over to the infant, who was snuggled in my arms. She cooed at first, and then fawned a bit, until she got it all out her system and was ready to talk to me. The brother she hasn’t seen for years.

It was awkward, the initial conversation. There was so much to talk about, but not one of us knew how to get it out. We were standing there, staring at each other with all the emotions pooling at our eyes, but not wanting to actually show them because that wasn’t who we were.

‘See you got your baby.’ Harry almost choked out.

I responded, ‘Yeah, I did, she’s not more than a few days old.’

‘What’s her name?’ She asked.

‘Her name is Kylie, Kylie Holmes-Watson.’

Harry’s brown eyes widened. She was doing that thing we did when we were kids, she would act like something was more important than what it really was and try to focus all of your attention on that.

‘That’s quite the name, John. I’m sure you’re quite pleased with yourself, and you as well, Sherlock.’

You gave a wave of indifference towards her.

‘Trust me; it wasn’t as easy as it looked.’ You joked with her. At least, I felt like it was a joke.

Harry chuckled. It was charming and I got the sense that she hasn’t laughed in a while.

Kylie started stirring around; it was almost time for me to feed her. Her little mouth started to quiver and her wonderful blue eyes started watering. With the wonderful skill of making bottles with one hand, I was able to whip one up in record time. As soon as I was able to actually settle down with Kylie and start to feed her, you shot up off the couch as if there was a fire lit underneath of you.

‘I got a text from Lestrade; he said he had something for me down at the station. I’m off.’

I was disappointed; I thought that maybe you would want to chat with Harry to get to know her a little more.

‘I thought that Lestrade was on vacation. How could he leave you a case?’ I was confused, and a bit angry.

You were always the best at giving me dirty looks.

‘He doesn’t have to be at the station, John; he says that Dimmock, believe it or not, found the case for me. He doesn’t have my number so he phoned Lestrade who in turn phoned me. Makes sense now?’

Normally, I would have been able to handle your remarks and comments, but since your attitude has been a bit miffy, I was not as tolerant of your replies.

‘Yeah sure, Sherlock, whatever, just leave.’ I spat at you, and now I hate myself for it. I’m so sorry.

You stood there for a little while longer before actually moving to get your coat. Harry was still standing there, watching us silently fight with great precision. She would know about quiet arguments, she’s a champion. You returned moments later and opened the door to the flat. Before you exited, you turned back to face me.

‘I won’t be gone long, with the way the case is set up; I don’t think it’ll last for more than a few hours.’

I rolled my eyes and huffed at you. I didn’t see your face soften, and I didn’t hear the way your voice softened either. You turned to exit again but then spun back around yet again. I was waiting for you to say something; you looked like you were going to speak. I had to check Kylie every few minutes; all the while you said nothing. You just turned around with the look of defeat and then left. I was glad that you were gone, because you were starting to irritate me with your attitude. If only I tried hard enough to understand, I wouldn’t have been so angry.

‘You know John, you could have handled that a better way.’ Spoke Harry who was making her way to the couch.

‘You’re one to talk; I’m not the one who was divorced.’ I can be very mean at times. The words hurt her, it was all too apparent on her face. I immediately felt remorse.

‘I’m sorry Harry, it’s just Sherlock isn’t helping with the baby, he hasn’t even held her yet, he won’t feed her…’

‘Have you talked to him about it?’

I cocked my head at her. I had to readjust Kylie’s bottle because she was sucking on air for a few minutes.

‘Don’t you think I’ve tried? Talking to Sherlock Holmes is like talking to a wall at times.’ Is what I said to her.

She found that funny.

‘You know what I mean, John, have you actually sat down and talked to him about what’s bothering him? He looks very…troubled I believe is the right word.’

I couldn’t say that I had. I spent so many days angry at you for your cold, distant, behavior. Harry took the silence as a yes.

‘I may not know a damn thing about Sherlock, but I know enough to tell you that something is really bothering him, and it must be something that’ll bother you too if he refuses to speak on it. You two are married, as jealous as I am, and you’re both supposed to know when something is wrong with the other.’ She spoke with a certain dreaminess.

‘Oh so you’re a marriage counselor now?’ I retorted. ‘I’m trying to help you, John, I know that you love him, and you love Kylie, and I hate seeing you angry at him. Trust me when I say that all this anger that you’re feeling towards him right now, is only going to make things worse, and I would prefer if I was the only divorcee in the family.’ She half-joked.  

The last person I wanted advice from was my alcoholic, divorced, sister. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, I probably would’ve followed her advice properly, and I would have handled it better.

I hope you know Sherlock, I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at myself for not knowing why you were so pained. Why you felt like you couldn’t tell me. I just wanted you to be okay.

And that’s why I told myself that I’ll try and listen to Harry’s advice and talk to you. It was worth a try. It had to be.


	7. Chapter 7

“After that talk with Harry, I decided that you know, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask you, to try and convince you that you had nothing to hide from me. That we were in this together, you always needed reassurance on that. Normally, I wouldn’t listen to her, but that was one of the few times she was actually sober enough to make sense.

You were gone for a while, Sherlock. You told me that it would take a few hours for you to solve the case, so I waited, but then waiting for you seemed to take even longer. If I had known then why you took so long, then I would have understood, or I wouldn’t have. You remember my reaction to the news, I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better; I was just scared, and worried about you.

Kylie tried her best to wait up with me; her little eyes sagged and drooped as she struggled to stay awake. It’s the cutest thing; I wish you could’ve seen more of it.

The longer I waited up for you, the guiltier I felt. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, love, but I was tired of your attitude. I didn’t want you reverting back to your old ways, your old, lonely ways. In hindsight, you were probably delaying the end of the case because you knew I was mad at you and you wanted to give me time to cool off. That was thoughtful of you, thank you. You gave me time to piece together what I was going to say to you, actually. Yes, believe it or not, I wanted it to go a certain way. I would wait for you to get home, and then after some time, I would ask you, kindly, what your issue was and why you wouldn’t tell me. I was ready to give out physical comfort as well if you needed it. Sometimes, that was all you needed, Sherlock.

But like everything I plan, it always fucks up somewhere, and then it goes so horribly. I think the only thing I’ve ever gotten right was proposing to you. And let me tell you, Sherlock that was one of the greatest moments of my life that I have planned. I know that does wonders for your ego.

 

You remember right? You remember how you walked into the flat looking as deflated as a balloon. Did you notice me sitting there with our sleeping daughter in my arms? You hung your coat up and I waited. I waited for you to acknowledge me. Why? I don’t know, I just felt better knowing that you saw me, and that you were happy with me being near you. The only acknowledgement I got was a faint smile before it vanished and you wandered off into our room. Something wasn’t right with you, Sherlock, and it bothered me; it bothered me very much. I’m sure you knew that, and that’s why you tried your hardest to keep it under wraps, but if only you knew that you were making it worse.

Since Kylie was already sleeping, I took it upon myself to take her into the room; she would only sleep in my arms for so long before she got irritated. When I stood up, I felt older, more tired than usual. That wasn’t a normal thing for me, and I think it was partially because you acted the way you did. When I entered the room, you were fishing around in your draw, almost like you were careful not to alert me to anything, and I know you, love, I can tell when you tried to hide stuff from me. I saw the pile of clothes neatly folded next to you, so I knew that it wasn’t a fresh change of clothes you were looking for. I was curious, I might even go so far as to say that I had your level of curiosity; I wanted to know what you were doing.

I pretended that I wasn’t watching you mouse around in your drawer, and made my way to Kylie’s crib. I set her down gently, and the mobile shook a bit, causing you to close your drawer abruptly and spin around as if there was someone breaking into your house. At the sight of me, you relaxed, but the familiar look of tension was still in your eyes. What was it that you were so frightened of me seeing, I thought. I found myself a bit down that you would go so far as to hide something to this extent from me. I’m not saying that we were to be open with everything in our lives, but we should at least feel comfortable enough with the other knowing something.

‘John.’ You said genially.

In spite of myself, I smiled. I hate the way you can make me melt sometimes, but now and again, I miss it.

‘How was the case?’ I asked you, even though, some part of me deep down knew that the case was a lie. You were bored that day, Sherlock, but you weren’t that bored.

Your smile faded at the question. You looked like you didn’t want to answer it, but because I asked, you had to.

‘It was entertaining enough, I suppose. As usual, the spouse was killed and the other took the insurance money to live in the life of guilty pleasure. The best part was the look on the husband’s face.’

You were a good liar, I’ll give you that. I believed you.

‘Oh yeah,’ I responded, ‘Wish I was there, would’ve loved to write it up on my blog.’

I haven’t touched that thing in years, Sherlock.

You shook your head and the faint smile returned to your soft, pale lips.

‘Doubt it, it was predictable, and you wouldn’t have liked the results anyway. Such an easy case, I should’ve solved it sooner.’ You started to mumble to yourself towards the end of the sentence.

I just stared at you. I was trying to figure you out, you tried to put on a front, but living with you for so long has taught me a few things. One of those things was how tell that you were lying. Nobody said anything; the only thing that could be heard was Kylie’s soft breathing, and the sound of Mrs. Hudson shuffling around downstairs. I was trying to say the words that I’ve thought up while you were out, but it seemed so much harder when you were right there in front of me.

Finally, you stood up and gathered the clothes on the bed.

‘I’m going to have a shower, John. I’ll be out shortly.’ You weren’t yourself.

‘Want me to join you?’ That’s the only thing I could think to say. Of course you would say no.

With a soft chuckle, you shook your head.

‘Not tonight, besides, Kylie might wake up and it would be best if one of the parents were around to watch her.’ You stated in your factual tone.

You finally said that you were one of her parents; I just wish that you acted like it more.

I nod, downtrodden that you would reject me from joining you in the shower. It felt like so long since I’ve touched you. What I wouldn’t give to feel you against me one more time. I let you saunter past me and into the bathroom. I took my seat on the bed and waited patiently for something to happen, for you to change your mind and let me in the shower, or for Kylie to actually wake up, although it would be hell trying to get to go back to sleep. I tried to not think about sifting around through your drawers to see what you were hiding.

Of course, the temptation grew so strong that I couldn’t fight it anymore. I was surprised; it took me a whole hour to actually do it. I felt so bad, Sherlock, but it was for your own good. It could have been drugs, it could have been something else, I was just worried for your health.

Your first two drawers were clean, miscellaneous things that I’ve told you to throw out time and time again, but you refused and said that they could prove useful one day. Evidently, they weren’t. It wasn’t until I found the third drawer on your nightstand. I hesitated to open it, I felt my gut instinct telling me that it was wrong to invade your privacy in a way, but something was telling me, in the back of my mind to open it, and sure enough, I did.

Out of all the things I found inside of your drawers, I would never have expected to find what I did.

Among the bottles of pills for several types of pain, I found a bottle for depression as well.

It was perfect timing too, because you stepped out of the shower and were standing in the doorway. Your face was blank, but I saw it in your eyes. I wasn’t supposed to find it.

And I remember quite clearly the look I gave you. It was anger mixed with extreme worry.

All I could say was, ‘Sherlock Holmes, you have some explaining to do.’”


	8. Chapter 8

“…You just stood there, Sherlock. I held the bottle of pills up and you just stared at them as if it was your deepest darkest secret being revealed. You were still wet, you’re hair was a wet curly mass on the top of your hair, and you had the towel wrapped around your waist; it gave me a sneak peek of your hips and the little line of dark hair that trails down. I was so cross with you, Sherlock. But I was getting turned on by the sight of you wet and half-naked in our doorway, and it made me even madder.

You still didn’t speak, or even try to respond to what I said. You were still in shock at the fact that I found whatever it was that you were hiding from me. I think that you forgot, sometimes, that we spent so long together, and because of that, I know when you aren’t alright, and I know that you tend to hide stuff from me. I wish you learned that you didn’t need to do that.

It took you some minutes to actually attempt to form any words. I was still kneeling, holding onto the half-empty pill bottle as if my life depended on it.

‘John…I can explain…’ You whispered. You weren’t trying to upset me, or irritate me further because you know how I get when I’m angry.

I stood up now, and you still had your hand on your loosely-wrapped towel. I should’ve let you get dressed; I should have given you some dignity. How embarrassed you must have felt.

‘Go on then. Explain this bottle that I’m holding in my hand”, I snarked, “Tell me why I’m holding a bottle for depression prescribed to Sherlock Holmes-Watson.”

I was smiling, but it wasn’t out of happiness. It was out of anger at you for keeping secrets from me. You inched closer to me, still wary of what I may do and careful not to wake Kylie who was in desperate need of a nap.

‘I acquired those some weeks ago, John, I—.’

‘I don’t care how, I want to know why.’ I cut you off.

You looked pained. You were paler and your lips were drawn together to create a solemn expression on your face. Did I feel bad for making you feel like that? I don’t know. I want to say that I do, but then I would have never gotten the truth out of you. You sank down to the bed like a deflated balloon and exhaled shakily. I was angrier and grew more anxious by the minute. I always hated it when there was something wrong with you, because then you would never tell anybody and it would only hurt you more.

‘It a few weeks after we got the news that we were going to have Kylie,’ You began, ‘I started to feel…well, I don’t want to say ill but not right. My mood was changing and I noticed certain changes were taking place in my body.’

‘What changes?’ I interjected harshly.

‘Sluggish behavior, mood swings, dull pains here and there, mainly in my abdomen, and then, just a few days ago, loss of appetite.’ You listed as if you were reciting some sort of list.

‘So what does this mean, Sherlock?’ The doctor in me knew, but did I want to believe it? No, absolutely not.

You looked like you didn’t want to finish the story, but because I wanted you to, you did it anyway.

‘You’re a doctor, John; you know what I’m getting at.’ You were snappish again. This was conformation that this was a very touchy subject.

At this point, I was ready to lash out at you, to throw the pill bottle at you and scream. I wanted to yell at you for not telling me, for waiting so long, for making me crazy with worry for you, for not letting me help you. But you didn’t need that, and I didn’t need that, and Kylie was sleeping.

 With a certain heaviness in my body, I felt like my legs couldn’t support the weight anymore and I too sank down onto the bed with you. No one said anything, because nobody could. I just stared at the orange bottle, with your name printed out in bold and clenched my jaw at the prescription. It was depression, out of all things, love.

‘Those are just for precaution, John.’ I heard your baritone voice say.

‘They may be for precaution, Sherlock, but it’s nearly empty.’ I sounded so defeated. You heard it in my voice because your eyebrows softened, and your perfect mouth was shaped into a frown. You weren’t trying to upset me, I know that now, but you ended up doing it anyway.

‘There were some days, John, where I needed them.’ You didn’t even sound like yourself.

I looked at you expecting an answer, and I got one. You couldn’t even look me in the eye. I couldn’t blame you.

‘Whenever you got mad at me, and looked at me like you didn’t want me around. Or whenever I’m alone with Kylie, and I want to hold her and do what you do with her, but I can’t do it. I can’t touch her, John.’

‘Why not?’ My voice was gruff. I was tired, stressed, and sad. Talking seemed to only wear me out even more. But this was the most you ever spoke in almost a month, and I was going to listen to every word you said.

‘I don’t want to get attached to her. I don’t want to become so dependent on her affection for me that when the time comes…I won’t be able to handle it. It’s bad enough with you---. ‘You were going to say something else that would frustrate me, so I had to stop you. I took your hands in mine and rubbed them softly, oh so softly. I found the strength to look you in the eyes and with the most comforting voice, I spoke, ‘Don’t speak like that, Sherlock. That’s not how this is going to end, I promise you. You’re going to be okay. We’ll be okay…’

You smiled, love, but I knew you didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe myself. But we needed to be hopeful about it, it could have been nothing and you would have been fine.

I kissed you, and then I left you to get dressed. I spent a good hour or so sitting in my armchair. It wasn’t as comfortable as I always thought it was. Nothing was comfortable anymore.

I came back into the room at, I think it was a quarter to midnight, I can’t remember, time has no place for me anymore, Sherlock. I crept in the bed carefully, I thought you were sleeping, the light was off, and you were facing the other way so that I couldn’t see your face. You were still, and I was not. I wanted bodily contact with you, I wanted to shag, we hadn’t done that in months, and if we did, it lacked the spark it had before all of this.

It was a few minutes later that I realized that you weren’t sleeping.

‘Have you been to the doctor?’ It came out of my mouth before I could even stop myself.

‘Yes.’ Was your curt response. You still didn’t face me.

‘When are you due for your next appointment?’ I was curious now; you couldn’t blame me for that now could you?

‘….Next Tuesday.’

I felt that I couldn’t pass this up, so I opened my mouth and said, ‘I’m coming with you.’

Your head shifted back a bit. I could see he outline of your nose, and a bit of your mouth.

‘Okay.’ Was all you could say to me.

Our conversation should have ended there. But not that night, I wrapped my arms around your waist and shuffled closer, pressing my nose into your boney back. You didn’t try to move away, which is how I knew you wanted this.

I think you and I slept better that night than we did any other night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer's wifi isn't working so updates will be a little slower!


	9. Chapter 9

"That morning, the morning of your appointment was awkward. You were quieter than before, if that was even possible. Kylie didn't cry as much as she used to either. I guess she got comfortable in her new home. Mrs. Hudson would pop in for a few minutes to do the usual, make some tea or check up on Kylie. I think the reason she barely came up was because she couldn't handle being around us for an extended period of time. She would make conversation with us, but it was always in passing. I was beginning to miss the old Baker Street, the one where everyone was happy and enjoyed being the company of each other.

 

I remember going into our room to check in on Kylie who was sleeping. I don't know where you were, love. You might have been in the shower, I can't recall. She looked so peaceful in her crib, Sherlock. I wish you could've taken more time out to spend with her. She loves you so much. 

 

I made some adjustments to her blanket and to the mobile that stopped playing a while ago, and after that, I just watched her. I remember thinking that she couldn't have picked a worse time to be born. Everything was dull, what with her fathers not even talking to each other. Her 'grandmother' barely coming up to visit anymore. She deserved better, Sherlock. And I knew that you knew that too. 

 

'I'm sorry you have to deal with this.' I whispered to her. I felt bad. It wasn't your fault, it was all of us. 

 

I was sat on the bed waiting for you to get ready so that we could go. You were stalling, you never liked the doctor's office, and after all of this I can say I don't like them either. 

 

You finally emerged from the shower, glistening from the water. You had your towel wrapped around your waist, as usual, and you made your way over to the folded pile of clothes on the bed. I don't know if you were ignoring me on purpose, or if you really didn't know what to say. I took the initiative and started the conversation. 

 

'How're you feeling, Sherlock?' I wanted to know, you weren't as much of a talker that people thought you were, your silence was troubling. You took a few minutes to respond to me, you were fussing around with the small buttons on your impossibly tight shirt. I loved your shirts so much. 

 

'Fine, John.' Your reply was short and blunt. 

 

It was obvious that you weren't in the mood to talk, Sherlock, but I didn't want to stop the conversation, I needed to know where your head was at. 

 

'Are you sure? You don't sound fine.' I hope you realized that I wasn't trying to pester you, Sherlock. 

 

'Who's going to watch Kylie? We aren't taking her to the doctor's, are we?' 

 

I always hated the way you changed the subject. 

 

'No, no we aren't going to be taking her with us. She wouldn't be able to stay quiet that long,' I went along with the subject change, 'I don't think Mrs. Hudson would be able to keep up with a newborn, so I phoned Molly. She hasn't got anything on, and she hasn't had a chance to meet the baby yet so why not?' 

 

You mulled it over in your head and decided that my logic was sound. You were tucking your shirt into your pants now. 

 

'Is Molly on her way?' 

 

I nodded. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about and you knew it. It was obvious that you were unsettled by the upcoming appointment and I didn't like that. Not one bit. I nodded to myself because I knew what you really wanted, and what you really needed. I got up from the bed and then walked over to you. You looked bewildered at first, but when I wrapped my arms around you, you looked relieved, like all your troubles went away in that hug. I rubbed your back and I planted a few kisses to your cheek and head. You missed it, Sherlock. You missed the intimacy we used to have, so do I. I miss it each and every day. You were the one who pulled away and gave me a kiss. It was short, but it was much needed. We were staring at each other now. Your eyes looking right into mine, not moving. You looked so...so soft in that moment, Sherlock, it was almost as if I couldn't touch you because I would break you. Your face was so youthful...you never seem to age...I did the aging for the both of us. I wanted you in that moment, I wanted you so bad. The timing seemed perfect, Kylie was asleep, we were alone...if only you allowed me that Sherlock, if only. But that kiss was enough for me. 

 

There was knocking on the door and so that cut our private time short. You gave me a soft smile and another kiss on the cheek as you stood up to answer the door. I never knew what went on in your head. 

 

'Hi, Sorry I'm late! There was an insane amount of traffic on the roads!' I knew that chipper voice anywhere. It was Molly. I stood up to join you two over at the door. She was making her way inside of the flat. 

 

'It's alright Molly, you aren't late at all.' You were being polite. That was good. 

 

You closed the door and turned to face Molly. She was removing her gloves and her scarf. She was looking at the both of us. 

 

'So...where is she?' Molly was excited. Anyone in their right mind could see that. 

 

I told her that Kylie was in the room, asleep. Molly seemed disappointed at that. But then I told her that she should be waking soon, but we wouldn't be here for that. You watched as I told her where all her stuff was, when to feed her, when to put her to sleep. It made me feel...I don't know how to say it, proud. Being a parent, it gives me a sense of pride, Sherlock. I love it. And I love Kylie. 

 

I was just about done explaining when you came out the room with your coat on ready to go. I moved to fetch mine, said my farewells to Molly and Kylie and left with you to go to the doctor's.

 

The news that we got...it wasn't what we were expecting. Maybe you had a virus, or some sort of stomach problem. But that's not what we heard. 

 

'I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, you have Pancreatic Cancer...'

 

I'm sorry Sherlock, I need a minute to compose myself...." 


	10. Chapter 10

“…You remember, don’t you? You remember our reactions when we heard the news? When the doctor walked into the room, with his face shoved in his clipboard and you and me, we just stared at each other and tried to reassure the other that everything was okay. That you were going to be fine. He started talking to us, but more so you since it was your appointment.

‘Mister Holmes-Watson, yes?’  

 You didn’t respond verbally, you just gave him a curt nod. He accepted it and then he looked at me.

‘I presume this is your spouse?’

He presumed correctly. I was your husband no matter what happened. I nodded too and gave him a look to let him know that we wanted to hear it; we wanted to get it over with. He agreed with me because he started flipping the pages on his clipboard and from the look on his face, I knew, and you knew that the news wasn’t going to be as happy as we wanted it to be.

‘Since your husband is here, I’m assuming you told him about your visits here?’

‘I wouldn’t say that I told him,’ You retorted, ‘He found out himself.’

It wasn’t until I looked down that I realized you were holding my hand, and quite tightly too. I gave you a gentle squeeze and watched as the corners of your mouth curled into a small smile, it wasn’t a happy one, but it was something. I just didn’t want you to be scared, Sherlock. Not when I was there with you.

‘Smart lad.’ He said to you as if I wasn’t in the room. He finally acknowledged my presence and started talking to me.

‘I’m sorry, but what is your name?’

I moved to open my mouth but then you cut in.

‘I’m sorry, John’ You said, ‘I have told him many times who you were but I don’t think he ever remembers.’

I always loved that, Sherlock. The way you made sure that whenever people met you, they met me too. Guess there really is no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson, is there?

‘Ah yes!’ The doctor sputtered out. ‘You’re Doctor John Watson. Sherlock’s been telling me about you. You’re even a war hero?’

I shook my head. You always had to show off, didn’t you?

‘No war hero,’ I told him, ‘Just a bloke who survived.’

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He gave me the genial smile and then went back to business. Frankly, I was glad he left that subject alone. I hated talking about my time in the military. In no time, he was flipping through his papers again and started speaking.

‘Mister Holmes, if you don’t mind my calling you that for the time being.’

‘If you must,’ you sighed.

‘Mister Holmes, I’m sure you know the reason for me calling you back here.’ The doctor said with a raised eyebrow. He expected you to know the answer.

‘It’s about my test results, isn’t it?’ You sounded worried. You had every right to be, lord knows I was gripping your hand for dear life.

‘It is, yes.’ He said.

‘And…what…what did they say, doctor?’ I was the one speaking then, I needed to know at that moment, what was wrong with you, and if you were going to be okay. I needed you to be okay.

‘Well I don’t know how else to tell you this, but…’ He trailed off. I felt my body becoming heavy, everything was going slower. Being a doctor and having to deliver the same news to other people myself, but for your sake, I was holding out, I was trying to think on the positive side for once, just this once.

‘But what, doctor?’ You sounded so small, love, I couldn’t even tell you. I thought that you were going to burst out into tears right then and there, but you didn’t. Your face was as stoic as ever, but only I knew that it was because you were bracing yourself for the bad news. You knew just as much as I did what he was going to say.

‘The test results came back positive, I’m sorry Mister Holmes; you have Pancreatic Cancer…’

The look on your face, oh you tried so hard, Sherlock, but you couldn’t hide it, not that time. You were devastated. I didn’t know how else to react, Sherlock, so I did the only thing that I could and wrapped you in the tightest embrace I could muster. You didn’t respond to my touch, but I didn’t care, I just wanted you to know that I was there for you, always.

‘We can try to remove the cancer cells since it isn’t too serious yet,’ the doctor droned. I never did get his name, and I didn’t want it. ‘However, that would require surgery, if you are willing to do it, that is.’

I felt your body stiffened. You hated this so much, I know that you wanted to be back at the flat, we could have been watching a Bond movie, or you could have been sprawled out on the couch deducing every little fact about the actors or the characters on the telly. But there we were, talking about surgery to remove the cancer inside of your body. You deserved so much better than that, we both deserved better than that. You buried your face in the crook of my neck, so I couldn’t get a good look at your face. You nodded, and I had to translate.

‘We don’t have many options do we? If we don’t get this surgery done then the cancer cells will grow and you’ll get sicker than you already are.’ I felt like I was talking to a patient.

Your muffled voice made my skin vibrate.

‘I know that, John.’ You were disgruntled, or at least, you wanted everyone to think you were that way. ‘I don’t enjoy the news anymore than you do and would like to have it removed if there is a chance.’

I looked over at the doctor and reiterated what you said to me.

‘We’ll do it, doctor. All we need to do is schedule a time and day and that should be good enough.’

You mumbled something into my shoulder, but I couldn’t understand it. I don’t think I wanted to either; I was busy trying to save your life. Look at what good that did.

‘Very good, I’ll give you a ring later on today to discuss things further, I have two other patients that need seeing to.’ He didn’t even give me a chance to say anything. He turned around and walked out of the room. I gave you a pat on the back and you rose back up like a vampire rising from its coffin. I tried to make some light out of the situation; I’m not really good at that so I apologize if I made things worse. You just got diagnosed with cancer, Sherlock, I don’t know if anyone can be easily swayed with a joke or two. You gave me a glare; you were upset; of course you were.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told you, ‘If anything, it doesn’t seem too serious so this surgery might work.’

‘Do these surgeries often work?’ You were getting nervous again. You were over-thinking, always over-thinking.

I shrugged; I didn’t want to give you more bad news. I was giving optimism a try, remember?

‘It’s hard to say, Sherlock, some people are lucky; they get to the cancer before the cancer gets them.’

You slid off of the examination table and clasped your hands together.

‘And what about the other people, the unlucky ones?’ You were so eager to find out about this surgery, and since I was the only doctor in the room, all the answers had to come from me. I was surprised you didn’t know the statistics already. You probably deleted it.

‘The unlucky ones…well…they stay unlucky.’ I didn’t want to talk about this anymore, I just wanted to get my things and for you to get dressed so that we could get out of the building.

‘Meaning they die, John I’m not a child nor am I an idiot, people either die in surgery or they don’t, and even if they don’t, the surgery might not work and the cancer might still be inside of them. I don’t want to be one of those people,’ you said, ‘I want to be among the people that survived and are cancer-free. Do you think that could happen to me? I won’t ask you to promise me that because promises can’t be kept.’

I had to let that all sink in for a minute. That was practically an admission of fear, Sherlock, do you see? You stood there in that paper-thin hospital gown and told me that you were scared. You didn’t want to die. I had to take you in my arms and I had to kiss you everywhere. On your cheeks, on your chest, on your neck, your hands, I had to comfort you, and to reassure that you were going to be fine. You were always fine.

‘Sherlock, don’t worry about that, don’t let a single thought about it come to your head.’ I told him. ‘You will be fine, you are going to be fine, Sherlock.’

You had the look that you wanted to protest, but thankfully, you didn’t. You kissed me on my forehead and then moved to put your clothes on while I waited outside.   
~~~~~~~~  
The ride home was quiet. We were both processing our thoughts on the matter. You were facing the window but I still felt your soft hand curl into mine. You wanted the physical intimacy more than anything. I was more than happy to give it to you.

Later on that night, I saw you standing at Kylie’s crib. She was awake, but we were occupied doing something or other. You reached in and from my view; you were giving her what looked like strokes on her wonderfully big cheeks. Your mouth had the smallest of smiles on it and I couldn’t help but watch you interact with our daughter. I didn’t know what brought that about, but I was proud of you. You were making progress.

In bed, after I turned off the light and said my goodnight, I felt your side of the bed shift around a bit, and then the familiar sensation of your curls tickling the bottom of my nose. You were cuddling with me, the first night in a while you wanted to. You gave me fluttering kisses on my chest, and then you kissed my scar and shuffled into me even more. I appreciated the fact that you were doing all of this, but I couldn’t help but wonder, how this news was going to affect you, nevermind the surgery.

All I could think about that night, was your surgery going wrong, and then I tried to think of something else but the only other thought that came to mind was not talking about the war more.”


	11. Chapter 11

“…I remember the morning after the appointment; I woke up and found you staring at me. Your eyes were honed in right on mine. To some people, it would have been awkward, but for me, you know I loved every bit of it. I have to admit, it’s not something I expected to wake up to, but it was pleasant. I whispered a good morning to you, and you gave me something resembling a smile. I accepted it; it wasn’t like I could see it when your face was half-buried in the pillow now could I? I waited for you to say something, maybe reply to me, but you didn’t even move to speak. I left you alone, you probably weren’t in the mood to talk, and I didn’t blame you.

You rolled out of bed, half-naked, and then made your way over to the crib to check on Kylie. You were adjusting something; I don’t know what because I was still lying down. She had to be asleep still because she didn’t make a sound when you were fussing about in there. When you were finished, you walked out of the room. You were trapped inside your own world, it was going to be one of those days I could tell, and with the news we got the day before, I knew I had to keep an eye on you. I didn’t think that you were going to revert back to drugs or anything, I knew that you were past that. You had me, and you had Kylie, there was no reason for you to go back to them.

If I can remember correctly, you weren’t speaking very much. Normally, that wouldn’t have bothered me because I know how you slipped into your mind palace for hours at a time, but this time, this time I needed you to talk to me, to know that you were alright. You never understood that it was okay to not be okay, no matter how many times I told you.

You spent a lot of your time on your laptop, which is how I knew that you weren’t lost in your thoughts, because you were moving and seemed to be aware that you were doing it. I tried to read the paper; I had a few moments before Kylie woke up and I decided to use it to get some reading time in. Every so often I would look back at you sat at the table and typing away at your keyboard. I always felt sorry for the poor laptop; you showed no mercy while you were typing. You would stop, and then you would scrutinize whatever it was that popped up on your screen, and begin anew. I wanted to go over there and ask you how you were doing, and what you were doing on the laptop. I opted not to because you would no doubt dismiss me and give me the vaguest answers you could possibly manage. You wanted to be left alone, and I wanted to give you your space to think this over, to get your mental bearings on the whole situation.

Thankfully, Kylie woke up and gave me a reason to leave the room without being awkward about it. Her cries told me that she was hungry, and that meant that I had to warm up the bottle and keep her busy till then. I folded the paper up and set it down on the right arm of the chair, and then stood up and stretched a bit. I didn’t even get to the kitchen yet when I heard you ask, ‘Do you want me to prepare the bottle for you, John?’

I had to look at you. You hadn’t spoken all morning, Sherlock, I was a bit confused by the sudden outburst. You were staring at me, your eyes searching for some type of response from me. I looked around for a bit before answering you.

‘You want to warm the bottle up for me?’ I asked with a bit of disbelief.

You rolled your eyes.

‘Honestly, John, there is no need to repeat what I just said.’ You always hated when I did that.

I raised my hands up and told you that that was new. You never volunteered to help with taking care of the baby, you still never held her. You didn’t know how to respond to that and started typing away again, determined to act like the whole conversation never happened. I looked at you for a while, and hearing Kylie’s screams get louder, I had no other choice but to let you. She was already a handful when she was upset, and it was always nice to have the other parent help once in a while. I shuffled to the room and heard you preparing the bottle for her. She had a pair of lungs on her. I scooped her up and tried to quiet her down, which wasn’t much, it was just bouncing up and down and shushing her. I was surprised that it worked, to be honest. I looked down at her to see if she was truly awake, and sure enough, she was. Her big eyes looking right up at me, they were still watery from her tears. I think I remember giving something of an awkward smile. Holding Kylie and realizing that she is my daughter, it’s not something I ever feel myself getting used to.

I made my way over to our bed and sat down and continued the mediocre method of keeping Kylie quiet, which was still effective, surprisingly, while I was waiting for you to finish up with the bottle. No doubt you were making sure that it was the right temperature and the exact measurements, don’t think I didn’t see you out of the corner of my eye whenever I was making it myself.

You eventually walked into the room with the bottle in your hand. Not to my surprise, it was warm and looked a lot better than what I would have done. You looked somewhat surprised with yourself too. I took it, and gave you a quick thank you before positioning Kylie to feed her. You gave a quick twitch of the corner of your mouth and then walked out of the room almost as quickly as you entered. I let it slide that time and focused my attention on Kylie.  
~~~~~~~

A little later in the day, you were lying on the couch now, watching the news. You didn’t shut your laptop off which meant that you were going back to it later. Kylie was awake, but she was as quiet as a mouse. She was nodding off, I think. You looked to be dozing off as well.

I grabbed the remote and switched the telly off to see that you didn’t even realize. You were going to fall out soon, and so was Kylie, which gave me the blessed moments of silence where I could gather my own thoughts. You weren’t the only one struggling with the news. Even with the surgery appointment, that didn’t change the fact that you still had the cancer inside of you, growing each day. I tried not to dwell on it too much, but, that was the doctor in me, you know?

I tried to look around the flat, see if there was something that could keep me busy besides the telly and the newspaper which I’ve tried to read on multiple occasions and still haven’t gotten past the first page. Then, my eyes rested on your laptop. You know that I try to give you as much privacy as possible, but you didn’t tell me anything, you didn’t tell me your thoughts on your current condition; you even tried to act like it never happened. Who knows what you were up to on that computer, Sherlock? Just like the pill bottle, I would have to investigate your laptop.

I gently rose out of the armchair, with Kylie safely nestled against my chest, and treaded on light feet over to the table, at this point, you were asleep, Sherlock, or at least, you wanted me to think you were asleep. Maybe you were acting like that because that was the only way you could tell me that there was something wrong with you and that you wanted me to help. I don’t know, maybe I was reading too much into it, but you could be a cryptic one at times.

I took a seat on the chair and opened your laptop. I was surprised that you didn’t have a password. You know what, never mind, you would have probably locked yourself out of it because you deleted the password.

The first thing that popped up was Google. You were probably in the middle of searching for something when you took the break. Inside of the search box, it said, ‘Statistics of cancer-removal surgeries’.

I should have known that you were going to be so paranoid about it. If you didn’t know enough about something, you worried yourself with every little detail on the subject. I wish you didn’t scare yourself with all of that nonsense, Sherlock. Negativity, piled on top of more negativity, it’s just pointless. Or maybe, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you that would be a bit hypocritical I suppose.

There was another tab open, with Google once again as the page. This one read, ‘Survival odds of Pancreatic Cancer.’

I couldn’t tell you how…how unsettling this was. You were so hell-bent on thinking that the surgery wasn’t going to work.

One last tab open, of course I had to click it.

‘Life expectancy of Pancreatic Cancer.’

Sherlock…You were so sure that the procedure wasn’t going to work and that you were going to die, you had no hope. You take death as it comes, Sherlock, but not like that. Not by searching survival rates and surgery statistics. Some things…some things you have to leave to chance, Sherlock, I just wish you knew that, or let yourself understand that.

But your search, the one about the loved ones, it had me thinking. While the surgery might work, it might not, and what then? I couldn’t wait to tell everyone when you were admitted into hospital that same day. They had to know sooner or later. We had to tell them about this. You hated me for it, but I had no other option."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @highfunctioninggaybaby so that you can send in prompts for me that I can fill out and post here! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me even with the long wait for the chapters! I hope you all enjoy the story as we continue!


	12. Chapter 12

“…All of our friends were in our flat that day. Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, all of them. All sat on the couch, with Molly and Mrs. Hudson taking turns with Kylie. Mycroft, he didn’t show up until later, remember? All cold and mysterious, but when he found about your cancer, I saw the tenderness in his eyes. He cares for you, Sherlock, and I know you cared about him but you two were never good with affection, and there’s a lot of bad blood as well. I shouldn’t speak about your relationship, hell; it’s probably healthier than mine and Harry’s, albeit it’s not the conventional sibling love. I wonder what Mycroft is up to now, he didn’t handle the news so well, and I haven’t seen him since…

I’m changing the subject now.

….Where were you, Sherlock? Where you when I was in the living room with them?  Were you in the shower, or were in the room taking a nap? I’d like to think that you took all of those naps because you were trying to take better care of yourself, but the doctor in me knew that it was because of the cancer. The appointment was soon, I had hope, and for a brief moment, you had hope too. I didn’t see any more of those searches on your laptop, or maybe you didn’t let me see them.

You were in the room, I remember now because your hair was mussed up and your eyes were squinted and you looked perfectly human, Sherlock. You looked around and saw them sitting there, Molly bouncing Kylie gently on her knee, Mrs. Hudson’s eyes darting around the room looking for something to clean, and Greg looking exhausted as usual, but he tried to stay alert because he knew that something was wrong. I looked up at you and you were staring at them with such intensity. Molly flashed a glance at you and gave you her warm smile before focusing back on Kylie. You took a step back; you knew what was going on, because I warned you a few days back. I told you that they had to know now, before the surgery or before you get worse and you weren’t happy about it, but it had to be done.

I told you to take a seat; the only available one was your armchair. Of course you didn’t listen. Your eyes were shooting at all three of them like you were deducing everything on them, right to the last seam in their clothes or the last hair on their head. When you were finished, you turned your attention to me again and in your baritone voice, you said, ‘John, don’t do this.’

I told you that I had to, that we couldn’t keep this a secret any longer, they cared about you Sherlock, it didn’t look like it but we were a family of sorts, we all had each other. Together we were all just a bunch of lonely misfits.

You were still pleading with me, you shook your head and your bottom lip was quivering. Eventually you let out a sigh and sulked over to the chair and sank down in it. I gave you an apologetic look, before I gave my attention to our guests. I cleared my throat and opened my mouth. I knew that I was speaking, I just couldn’t hear it.

‘I…I’m sure you’re all confused as to why you’re here,’ I began,’ And now that Sherlock’s here, I can tell you.’

That unsettled everyone in the room. You shuffled around in your seat and Molly broke eye contact with Kylie to look at the both of us, even Mrs. Hudson looked like she was paying attention. I heard you breathe out my name and I felt a small part of me die when I heard it. You didn’t want to be reminded of it, but as long as your illness existed, so did the problems.

‘What’s wrong, John?’ Molly asked. Her voice was so small, but she’s always been the mousy sort. Her question made my deliverance of the news that much harder. I tried not to look at you, because then I knew that I wouldn’t be able to tell them, that they would have to figure out on their own. My army training helped a bit, I was able to readjust myself, look more confident, able to hide my true emotions. I remember telling myself that it was just one sentence, and they’ll handle it, if I could handle the news, they could. I didn’t like the fact that you had cancer, but I had to deal with it, just until you had your operation. Then everything would be okay again. Didn’t you think the same as well?

‘I don’t know if any of you were aware, but Sherlock has been…ill for a while.’ I didn’t sound like myself.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to react; she held her hand to her chest and gasped. Molly and Greg, they looked surprised, but not like her. She wanted to know why she wasn’t informed. My mouth twitched into a brief smile. Being the mother hen is her thing, you know. However, I didn’t finish what I wanted to say, at that point, I’m not sure that I wanted to. I told them that we took you to the doctor, I left the part out where you’ve been going the whole time and didn’t tell me or anybody, you were probably embarrassed enough.

‘…And we found out that…’ I stopped midsentence. My tongue felt swollen, Sherlock, like I couldn’t get any words out. I scared them even more. Mrs. Hudson looked like she was nearing a heart attack, Greg, as tired as he was looked wide awake then. Even Molly stopped paying attention to the baby. I felt your eyes on me; I know what you were trying to do. You were warning me, right? You were trying to tell me that this was my last warning and that you didn’t want me to finish my sentence. Sorry, Sherlock, you and I both knew that I couldn’t do that. I already had them hanging off the edge of their seats, I’m not just going to say ‘never mind’ and go about my day.

I took a deep breath and tightened my fist.

‘…Sherlock….Sherlock has cancer….Pancreatic cancer….’ I said it as quickly as my mouth allowed me to. At first I thought that maybe no one understood me because I said it too fast. No one reacted, or at least outwardly. You were curious too, love; I saw how you watched the three of them with those analytical eyes of yours. For a moment, everything was silent, even Kylie seemed to feel the tension in the room!

I took the opportunity to tell them about your upcoming procedure to get the cancer cells removed from your body, and that the odds of you being healthy again were high. Still no response.  You looked unsettled, Sherlock, and you had every right to be, hell you didn’t even want to tell me that you were feeling ill.

 Mrs. Hudson was the one to give her thoughts on the matter. She started crying.

‘Oh my poor, Sherlock!’ She uttered. She moved to hug you, but you weren’t very responsive. You didn’t remove her either, and I was happy that you didn’t. She loved you like you were her own son.

And then while she was hugging you, Molly looked close to tears too, but she did a good job at stifling them.

‘So you’re going to get it removed, yeah?’ She inquired, her voice was shaky. You nodded to her question; you didn’t have much to say that day. She gave us a small smile and then gave Kylie back to me. She told me that she had to leave; there was something at the morgue that she had to go get. We knew that she was lying; she looked about ready to burst into tears right then and there. She walked out quickly, didn’t even hear Greg shouting after her. When he realized that getting her back would be impossible, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

‘Jesus, Sherlock, cancer out of all things…’ He started, ‘I mean…what can I say? Get well soon doesn’t seem like the right thing to tell you.’

You were annoyed, more specifically at me. Mrs. Hudson was still latched to you, bawling her eyes out so it made it harder for you to move.

You said, ‘The right thing for you to do would be to leave my flat, now.’ You were past irritated, you were angry at me. You should’ve known Sherlock that it would have been made obvious one day, and telling them would be a lot harder.

Greg nodded, he didn’t want any arguments or fighting, he needed to absorb the information, let it all sink in. He had a dazed expression. Mrs. Hudson stopped crying and let you go; she placed two kisses on your cheeks and then offered to take Greg to the door. It was just me, you, and Kylie left. Kylie was quiet as ever, in fact, I don’t think she was ever as quiet as in that moment. She probably sensed the mood. You rose from the armchair with your angriest face on. You looked down at me, and that made me feel a bit small, I have to tell you now.

I opened my mouth to speak to you, to tell you that it needed to be done, that this wasn’t going to go away, even with the surgery. You still would have had cancer in your body, and that’s a lot for people to deal with. I saw the wear and tear, Sherlock; this was bothering you more than you let on. No words came out, and you were one step away from spitting hot coals. You rolled your eyes and walked past me into our room. You slammed the door, and I was pissed at you because you were acting like a child, but I decided to let you go on your little tantrum and get it out of your system. I kissed Kylie on the nose and her close as I mentally prepped myself for the oncoming storm that was you, Sherlock.   
~~~~~~~~~  
That night, after I put Kylie to bed and got my pyjamas on, I lie down; you were already in bed because you didn’t leave the room ever since our meeting with the others. I could hear Mrs. Hudson crying softly downstairs, and I felt awful. Knowing that you had the illness, and being a doctor, made me worry for you so much, because I know what cancer can do to people, I’ve seen it first-hand. I didn’t want that to happen to you, Sherlock. I wanted you and me to be together for as long as time would allow us.

You had your back facing me; you didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I tried to touch you, but you pulled away from me. There was no doubt about it, you were mad at me. I expected you would be. We were all angry.

I wanted to kiss you, to feel your soft skin pressed against mine, but you wouldn’t allow me so I decided to go to sleep. It was cold that night, Sherlock, I think it was because we’ve gotten used to embracing each other, and when we were separated we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. I fought the urge to roll over and wrap my arms around your back many times, Sherlock. I let you handle your emotions because I knew you weren’t well-equipped when it came to that. I felt that this was all a dream, and that I would wake up and everything would be different, that everything will be better.

It only got worse from there.”


	13. Chapter 13

“…It felt like the days were going by quicker, since your surgery was coming up, Sherlock. I would look at the calendar one day and see that it was Monday, and then look again and find out that it’s Friday. You were anxious, and you moved around the house a lot more, like you were agitated. I don’t think that was the case, love, you were trying to distract yourself so that you wouldn’t have to think about the procedure. I tried to do the same thing, I spent my time watching telly, or playing with Kylie, I even cooked a lot more than usual, but that didn’t work. All the experiments you were doing wasn’t helping you either, Sherlock. We spent a lot more time cuddling on the couch, as well as in bed. It just happened out of nowhere, we were lying in the bed, you must have been sleeping already, or I was getting ready to sleep. I was staring up at the ceiling in the dark, mulling over everything that’s happened to us in these past months, getting Kylie, your sickness, everything. And then I felt you roll over but I dismissed it because I thought that you just wanted to get comfortable. I thought I was only imagining things when I felt your arms wrap around my waist, it was so long since you’ve wanted to do something as intimate as cuddle with me. We hadn’t made love in weeks. Then I felt the familiar tickle of your curls under my chin as you pressed yourself up against me. My chest was bare, I’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping without a shirt because of my time in the army, and I’ve told you this already, you didn’t seem to have any issue with it. I felt your breath hitting my neck as you slept, or tried to sleep. I felt my mouth twitch into a smile because you felt so good, Sherlock. I missed it, I missed you.

I turned my head a bit, so I could inhale the scent of your hair, of the products you put in it. You shifted a bit. You liked it. Before I was even knew what I was doing, I was kissing your curls, and gently caressing them. I nuzzled my face into them and loved every moment of it. That’s when I felt your finger twirling about in my chest hair, you weren’t sleeping after all. I removed myself from your tresses and tried to get a good look at your face. You were awake now, eyes opened and everything. I whispered your name, it sounded foreign, coming out of my mouth. I felt like I’ve never said it before, at least, not in the soft tone I used. You stopped messing with the hairs on my chest and then laid your hand flat on top of them. You sat up and turned to face me. You looked so vulnerable in the moonlight, Sherlock, like something that shouldn’t be touched or else it would break. You looked gorgeous.

I asked you what the problem was, because you weren’t moving or talking, you were just staring at me and as much as I loved it, there had to be a reason. I asked you again and this time, you just smiled and shook your head.

‘Nothing’s wrong, John.’ You told me. I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I had reason to be skeptical. You had so much going on.

‘I just wanted to get a good look at you is all.’ You spoke softly; I’ve rarely heard you speak like that. Your hand raised and you placed it on my cheek. You rubbed the pad of your thumb against it, feeling the stubble from my recent shaving. The sensation was incredible, even from that simple gesture. You were leaning in now, and I knew that you were moving in to kiss me. I moved around to make things more comfortable. Your lips were pressed against mine and I was euphoric. You moved in deeper, or maybe that was me, and I felt your tongue intertwine with my own. My hands moved to your back, I let them roam all over your body, they made their way to your bum, and I gave it a squeeze. You pulled away from me and opened your eyes. We were both staring at each other and breathing heavily. Your eyes were colored by the moon, and how beautiful they looked. We stared at each other with longing, we both wanted this, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it and I didn’t want to force you.

You gave me another kiss, just a short peck, nothing serious. And then you began to work your way to my neck. You fluttered it with kisses and then moved down to my chest. It felt so good, Sherlock. You showed some attention to my scar and then my navel. Then you started to undo my pants.

I wanted this, Sherlock, I wanted this intimacy, and it’s been so long since we had it. I wanted to feel your soft skin rubbing against mine, I wanted to have your lips pressed on mine, I wanted you, love; I wanted my Sherlock.

I removed your shirt and then began to remove your pants because you wouldn’t need them for a while. I think that this was the first time we made love since before we had Kylie. I wanted to savor this moment because who knew when we would get to do this again? Pretty soon we were both naked and loving every moment of it. You rolled over and turned back so that I knew you were ready. I adjusted myself and then I moved into you. Each thrust was pleasure-filled and both of us loved it, I got to hear the soft moans that came from your mouth with each push, you sounded so soft, so gentle. That night was perfect, it was slow and sweet, probably one of the tenderest shags we’ve ever had. I wanted to remember you as you were, your curls, a bit damp from the sweat, you were lying on your stomach with the sheet draped over your bum perfectly. You were beautiful, Sherlock, god I was so lucky. I lay back down, this time on my side because I wanted to look at you and push the curls from your face as you slept. I gave you a quick kiss on the lips and moved you closer to me so that I could hold you and inhale your scent and remember that night forever.

You hummed and then brushed your lips softly against my scar.

I whispered goodnight to you, but you gave no response.

Your surgery was two days from then, and I wanted you all to myself before the day came. After your procedure, things weren’t the same.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Monday…Tuesday…Wednesday…every day seemed longer that week because of your operation. Friday, was the day. The day that we would go to the hospital to get the cancer cells removed. You didn’t know what to do, Sherlock. You went from plucking at your violin strings, to checking on one of your experiments, the one I deemed safe enough to conduct around Kylie, to just lying on the couch or typing away on your laptop. Everything seemed so surreal for me, Sherlock. I felt that maybe this wasn’t really happening, that maybe I would wake up and find you lying beside me fast asleep, and that Kylie was fast asleep in her crib and everything was okay. Just once, everything would be okay for us. But I guess people like you and me don’t get happy endings, huh?

I realized that day, that everything irritated me. The flip of the newspaper page, the sound of the telly in the background, even the random noises heard outside. Everything was irksome to me. Kylie was blessedly quiet that day; I guess she found out that sleep is actually nice. Mrs. Hudson busied herself with cleaning every inch in her flat; I heard the sounds of her humming and the occasional dish being set in place, as well as her hoovering. You were abnormally quiet. I watched with careful eyes as you moped around the flat, you were dreading the day, Sherlock, and I know you were. We had to do it, we wanted you to be okay, remember? I wanted you to be healthy again so that we could live together for as long as time would allow us.

I remember I said your name.

‘Sherlock.’ It was only to catch your attention, to get you to settle your nerves. I thought you didn’t hear me the first time because you didn’t respond, so I said it again, a little louder that time. You looked at me and said, ‘Yes, John?’ In a tone that I could barely hear. I frowned and stood up. You needed intimacy, I didn’t care about what you thought, and you needed the physical contact, love. I took your hands, they felt a bit clammy, and I made sure that you were looking me in the eyes. I wanted you to understand that no matter what happened, we would always be there for each other, that I would always be there for you. You made the eye contact with me, even if you looked a bit defeated.

‘Look, Sherlock,’ I began, ‘I know that this is worrisome for you. You’re going to have an operation, which makes everyone a bit jumpy. Trust me, I had my share of worked up nerves, and I’ve had to comfort patients feeling the same way you did.’

You cut me off.

‘So I’m one of your patients now?’ You snapped at me. You always reminded me of a wounded animal when you were scared or nervous, I was brave enough to actually approach you, unlike everyone else.

I shook my head and told you that what I say to the patients are repeated words, there were a few times when I actually tried to calm someone down. You were one of those people, Sherlock. I wrapped my arms around you and whispered in your ear. I told you that everything was going to be alright, and that we were going to be okay, we always were. Your body softened, once I pulled you into the hug, your breathing changed as well, I don’t think you were crying but I know that you were finally trying to deal with your feelings. The surgery was a few hours away, so we had to get ready. I already made preparations for Kylie, I would have brought her with us to hospital, but we didn’t know how long it was going to take, and I rather her be at the flat where it was nice and quiet. Molly offered to watch her again; she said something about her not being able to stay at St. Barts any longer than she needed to. Of course, she was lying, she couldn’t bear to sit and wait while you got operated on. I didn’t want her to do anything she felt uncomfortable with and so I let her babysit Kylie while we were out. This was hard on everyone, Sherlock.

I packed your bag; I knew that you would be staying for a night or two. I made sure Molly was situated, and that we were mentally prepared to leave. You looked so pale. I told Mrs. Hudson that the surgery could be hours, so I wouldn’t be back for quite some time, either late at night, or quite possibly, early the next morning. She was teary-eyed; she gave me a sort of wave and a curt nod. She gave you the biggest hug, like she would never see you again. You gave the smallest reaction; you gave her a few pats on the back.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson, everything will be alright.’ You whispered softly as she cried onto your shoulder. I fought the urge to hug you myself, Sherlock. I stood with my hands clasped together, so that I could remain calm. I had to be strong for you, love, I was your soldier.

She released herself. She wiped away a few tears, and gave some sniffles. I felt for her, I really did. Molly was standing in the doorway with Kylie in her arms. She looked close to tears too. The atmosphere was heavy with sadness, and I needed to get away from it. I was suffocated by it, and you didn’t need the negativity. Remember, we were trying optimism out for a change. It wasn’t working.

You let out a sigh, like you preparing to head out into the void. You opened the door, my eyes landed on the taxi that was waiting outside of the flat. I grabbed your hand and gestured towards the vehicle with my head. You blinked at me, but you didn’t move yet.

‘Molly, Mrs. Hudson, I don’t know how long this procedure will take, but I’ll take John’s word for it when he says that I’ll be alright.’ You said.

You wanted to believe it, didn’t you, Sherlock? You wanted to look on the bright side, but your magnificent head of yours, it wouldn’t let you. We were all thinking it, weren’t we? We all had that underlying feeling that something was going to happen. We just didn’t know what it was yet.

I gave your hand a tug again, and that got you moving. You were facing the taxi now; you refused to look anywhere else, more specifically me. You looked like you were trying to stop thinking, to stop imagining all the possibilities, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t switch it off. The cab ride was silent; the only talking that you and I did was in our heads. You gripped my hand for dear life. When we got to the hospital, and got you settled, you still didn’t let go of my hand. You were laying in the cot now, eyes fixated on me like you would never see me again if I left the room. I gave your cheek soft strokes and told you over and over again that you were going to be just fine, and that everything will be okay. The anesthesiologist came in and informed the both of us that you were going to be administered drugs now.  It wasn’t long before they took effect. You were getting sleepy, the grip on my hand was loosening, and your speech was becoming slurred.

‘John…’ You managed to say, ‘Stay…’

You were afraid. You begged me to stay with you, even though I couldn’t. I nodded and I kissed you and I whispered in your ear that I loved you, and that I will stay with you. I watched as they wheeled you away. I took a seat in the waiting area and I remember spending that whole time there hoping, wishing, praying, that you’ll be alright.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Waiting for your surgery to finish was pure agony, Sherlock. Maybe it wasn’t as long as I thought it to be; maybe it was because I was worried about you. You weren’t supposed to eat or drink anything that day but even before that, you weren’t too keen on having the standard three meals a day. My hands were clenched together and my leg couldn’t stop shaking. People passed by me and gave me short stares before they went about their day. I didn’t care what they thought about me. I was beginning to see why doctors don’t care for their loved ones, it clouds the head and they get sentimental. I wished I was in there helping them operate, or holding your hand even though you were passed out from the meds. The sounds of the machines, the chattering of the patients, nurses, doctors, and the bright lights that illuminated the whole building were driving me up the wall, Sherlock. I felt like you when you were bored, but I wasn’t as extreme as you.

I held both of our coats in my arms and tried to keep still, I thought I might have a quick kip to pass the time and to stop worrying so much because I knew you were going to be fine, the surgery was going to be a success. I just wanted everything to go back to normal, or as normal as we could manage. Nothing was ever mundane when you were around, Sherlock.

I thought that I might give Molly a ring, to check up on Kylie, to take my mind off of everything. I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and started dialing her number. She picked up rather quickly. She sounded busy, and I thought I heard crying in the distance. Molly spoke quickly and it was something along the lines of ‘Sorry John, I can’t talk now, Kylie’s starving and I can’t find her bottle.’ That was cut short. I was moving to put my mobile away when I got a call from a blocked number. Normally, I would just let it ring, but I had a hunch and so I answered. As I suspected, your brother was on the other line.

He said something sarcastic; I’ve learned that it runs in the family. I forget what he said because it was in one ear and out the other, but it was something like, ‘Good evening, John.’  Pardon my awful attempt at his voice. I asked him what wanted and told him that it wasn’t the time for his game of hide-and-seek. I stood up and looked around to see if he had some his agents there waiting to kidnap me. He wasn’t going to take me that easily, I was going to put up a fight that time, a real one. I wasn’t going to let him drag me away while you were still being operated on, and he probably knew about the procedure too.

He told me that he doesn’t mean me any harm, and then he said something cryptic pertaining to the hospital. Then he asked me, ‘How is he? Is the operation done?’

‘Where are you, exactly, Mycroft?’ I asked. He must have liked Batman when he was younger; he acts like him at times.  

‘Turn to your left and I believe your question will be answered.’ He said. I let out a breath and then did as I was instructed. There he was umbrella in hand, and mobile in the other. Once he noticed I was staring at him, he hung up and walked towards me. He gestured for me to sit but I didn’t. I was a bit miffed, Sherlock that he decided to show up now, when you were in hospital instead of stopping off at the flat like normal siblings would.

‘You know he’s sick, yes? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ I cut right to the chase. I didn’t have time for the riddles. He looked away from me, and twirled his umbrella around before he found the words to speak to me. He nodded; it looked like it hurt him to do such a menial thing.

‘Yes, yes, I am aware that he’s been diagnosed with…Pancreatic Cancer….’

‘When did you find out?’ I almost shouted at him.

He told me that he had someone follow you, during your visits to the doctor’s office, and had the doctor tell them why you were visiting. He’s the British government; he can do that, apparently. That doctor got fired recently; I think Mycroft was the one to get him canned. He said something in passing about the Doctor Patient relationship. I think I thanked him too. That’s beside the point, Sherlock.

I asked him, you know. I asked him why he didn’t come over to check on you, why he couldn’t spare one moment to come over and make sure that you were okay.

‘My brother, he wouldn’t have been pleased to see me, I’m sure.’ He wanted me to find some sort of pity in that statement. But it aggravated me more.

With a clenched fist, and very hushed shouts, I told him that whether or not you wanted to see him didn’t matter. Showing up would have showed that he cared, or at least made you feel a little better about everything. I don’t know, I just wanted him to see that it was rather shitty of him to not make an attempt to come and see you after we got the news. He knew the frown on his face was enough evidence. He sighed and asked me how you were doing.

‘He’s been…he’s been better…’ I told him.

Mycroft looked disappointed to hear that much. I asked him what did he expect from you, and he didn’t know. He probably knew that you were sulking; he just didn’t want to believe it. You’re his little brother, and no one wants to hear that their little sibling has cancer. Not even Mycroft. He wanted to know when you would be out of surgery, and I told him that it shouldn’t be much longer now, probably an hour or two. The sun was almost set.

He looked around for a moment and with a short sigh, he took a seat in the chair next to mine. I was shocked, to put it mildly. He placed his umbrella in between his legs and twirled it around. When he realized that I wasn’t sitting, he looked up at me.

‘What’s the matter, John, have you forgotten how to sit?’ He remarked.

I shook my head and continued to stand. Mycroft rolled his eyes and said, ‘Yes, I’m going to sit here and wait until my little brother is out of surgery.’

I don’t know if he told you that, Sherlock. But he did, he sat there with me for the next two hours waiting for your operation to be done. We didn’t say much to each other. Mycroft inquired about Kylie and I told him that she was doing fine. He nodded and made some comment about stopping off to see her one day, and you, if he had the time. The conversation ended there.

I thought that I was delirious from sleep deprivation when I saw the nurse that settled you in come walking over to me. I had both hands on the armrests and was ready to stand up the first moment she started speaking. She told me that the surgery was done, and that you were resting now. I looked over at Mycroft, who looked speechless for the first time ever, and then pushed past her to make my way towards you. Mycroft stayed behind to talk to the nurse further, not me; I just wanted to see you. When I entered the room, there you were, lying in the bed sleeping on your back. You hated sleeping like that but you couldn’t move much because of where they operated. I said your name quietly the first time, you didn’t respond, you were hooked on the pain medicine and so you were a bit out of it. I said your name a little louder; your eyelids fluttered like you were trying to open them. When I was at your bedside, I brushed some of your curls and gave you a light kiss. Your head was moving but your eyes were barely opened.

‘J-John?’ You managed to get out. I smiled. You looked so vulnerable and that was a rare sight. Your chest was bare, revealing the dark hairs covering it. You were breathing slowly.

I told you that it was me, that I was there. You held your hand out, it was shaking a bit, I grabbed it and took a seat in the chair that was set next to your bed.

‘I’ll be okay…right?’ You asked me. It saddened me to hear you ask that. You don’t like hospitals, or doctors, and you were uncomfortable, no doubt. I rested my elbow on the sidebar and nodded.

‘Yep…doctor said that you’ll be alright…’ I lied to you, love, and I’m sorry. Mycroft told me later what the nurse said, it wasn’t anything important. She said exactly what I told you when you got out. You needed a lot of rest, and even though you weren’t taking many cases, I still had to stop you because you needed to take it easy.

‘When can I…go home…?’ Your face softened and the grip on my hand got tighter. You always thought that I had the answers to the questions you couldn’t figure out. That wasn’t always the case, Sherlock. Sometimes, I was just as clueless as you.

I brought your hand up to my lips and rested them on it. I rubbed your hand with the pad of my thumb.

‘Not for very long, maybe a few days, if everything looks fine.’ I reassured you.

That seemed to ease you because you lessened your grip and let your arm sink. I remember us staring at each other. Your eyes were watery and sagged, because of the drowsiness. Your mouth was slightly opened. You gave a weak smile and I returned one. I stroked your cheek and turned in my chair so that I could face you better. I was tired to hell, at that point, Sherlock, I resisted the urge to close my eyes and sleep right there.

‘You’re tired, John…’ I heard you squeak. ‘Your eyes…they’re a bit low…and your breathing is slowing down…’ I shushed you and told you to save your energy because you weren’t looking too hot either. You were quiet for a whole minute. Then you said, ‘Lay with me.’

I rubbed my eyes and then stared at you, because I know you were going to say it again.

‘Lay with me, John, please?’

That was your way of begging me to sleep with you, and you know that I wanted to.

I smiled and told you to move over.  I let go of your hand and stood up and helped you since you could barely move. When I was sure that I had enough space, I removed my shoes and climbed into the bed with you. You tried your best to cuddle with me, but you were still sore and so that was complicated for you to do. We eventually got comfortable and you fell asleep. I was just about to make that final transition into sleep when I heard the door open. I thought it was one of the staff telling me that visiting hours were up and that I had to go home. But then the person walked over to the right side of the bed where you were. That person was Mycroft. I was barely awake and so maybe I was imagining things, but he stared at you for a time, and then stroked your curls and walked out again. He whispered something before he left; I think it was, ‘I’m sorry.’

When he left, I held you closer and kissed your cheek. I might have said something to you, I was honestly too tired to remember. I fell asleep with the scent of your curls in my nostrils, and the warm feeling of your body pressed against mine, even though you had no top on. I remember rolling the blanket down to see where they operated. It was bandaged so I didn’t get a good look, not that it bothered me anyway, and I examined it when we got home anyway. While I slept, I slept in peace. There were no war nightmares, no tragedy, just me and you. I haven’t had those dreams in a while now…”


	16. Chapter 16

“How long were you in the hospital for? I don’t think it was longer than three days. They were going to let you go but then you got sick from the medicine they gave you so they kept you for a little while longer. The day after your surgery, I came back with Kylie. This was her first time going outside for longer than an hour. She enjoyed herself, she was quiet, and she stayed awake longer than other day. You looked so drained, Sherlock. Your hair was a mess, and your eyes were lidded. You argued that it was because they wouldn’t let you shower, but the truth was that it was going to take you a while to recover, because of where they operated, and your poor reception to the pain medicine. They also informed me that you weren’t eating and drinking like you were supposed to, so it was up to me to spoon feed you your mash and make sure you drank all your water. You acted like it was so troublesome but I knew you loved it. Maybe that’s why you were being so difficult in the first place.

You started interacting more with Kylie, you would ask about her well-being and to my surprise you actually listened. You touched her a lot more than you used to, and started to acknowledge my presence. I think you finally let it set in that you were her father, and that she was our daughter. You still wouldn’t carry her, but it was baby steps, Sherlock. And you ended up holding her…once…just once.

I’m getting off topic, aren’t I? I was up to when you got released from hospital, right? It was raining that day, so I had to leave Kylie with Mrs. Hudson, Molly was too busy that day, and I supposed that Mrs. Hudson hasn’t had much of a chance to spend time with Kylie, and I wouldn’t be long. You were sitting up in the bed looking as miserable as ever. When the door closed and you perked up almost instantly, and a smile came to your face.

‘John!’ You knew that you were going to be released from what you called, ‘Medical hell’, and you couldn’t be happier. I smiled in response; it felt good to see you as what I would define chipper. Once I was at your bedside I gave you a quick kiss, you were reluctant to pull away from me. When you did, your attention went to the overnight bag I was carrying immediately. You tried to snatch it from me, but luckily enough, I was able to move my hand out of the way so that all you grabbed was air. You pouted.

‘Can I have the bag, John?’ You asked with a bit of attitude. I wanted to make you fight for it, maybe tease you with it a few times, but you weren’t well and I didn’t want to make you feel worse. I handed it over to you and watched carefully as you tried to climb out of the bed without hurting yourself. I helped you as best as I could, I placed a hand on your waist, and grabbed your hand with my other.

‘Easy Sherlock,’ I said.

You made a few grunts here and there; eventually you were able to make your way into the bathroom without my help. You never asked for it either, at least not until later.

‘It’s alright, John. I can handle it from here.’ You reassured me. I didn’t let my guard down until I saw the bathroom door close. It looked like it hurt you to walk. Judging by the area on your body where they operated on, and the painkillers they prescribed for you, I would say that you were pretty sore, Sherlock. You didn’t come out of the bathroom until a good ten, twenty minutes later. I really loved the way you looked in that purple shirt, Sherlock. I mean good lord, it was the tightest shirt you owned and it just looked so…so good. You were in your usual posh, ‘look at how smart I am’ stance, but you looked pale and like you needed to sleep.

‘Can we go now, John? I am eager to return home.’

I nodded and we headed out together. Thankfully, there was a cab outside of the hospital; it just finished dropping off some customers. It was a man and a woman, they were accompanied by a small child, and she looked like she had the flu or some sort of virus like that. I inched over to the side so I wouldn’t be in close contact with her. You hopped inside of the cab and already gave our address before I could close the door. The ride home was quiet, I was listening to the droplets of rain hit the windows of the cab. You moved closer to me and I felt your hands intertwine with mine. You were resting on me, but it was only noticeable to me, the cabbie was too busy driving to focus on us.

I peppered kisses all over your hair. I was so relieved to have you come home, to finally have you under my care. I was your doctor, you knew this.

‘How’re you feeling, Sherlock? You’re not looking too hot.’ I asked you. I was speaking lower than usual because I wanted to enjoy the quiet, it wasn’t every day we got to sit like this, with no distractions, no interruptions, never mind the fact that we were inside of a cab.

‘At the moment, the thought of having a good kip doesn’t seem so bad.’ You retorted.

You sounded like you were going to pass out right then and there. The doctor in me was screaming bed rest because that’s exactly what you needed. I gave you another peck and told you that we were going to be home soon and that you would get as much sleep as you needed. You made some passing remark about Kylie, and I told you that she could spend a few hours with Mrs. Hudson. If she needed me, she could always give me a shout from down the stairs. Surprisingly, Kylie enjoyed herself with our landlady, but we considered Mrs. Hudson as Kylie’s grandmother since she was so motherly to us.

When we got back to the flat, I had to help you up the stairs, the pain medication was wearing off and you made a few complaints about it hurting. You managed up the stairs fine enough, and I helped you to our bed, and took off your jacket and your shoes. You tried to protest and moved to remove one of your shoes but I told you that I was going to do it, so that you could lie down and relax. You fell asleep almost instantly, snoring and everything. I took a seat in my armchair and waited until you woke up. I visited Kylie a few times downstairs.

You woke up well into the am hours. You looked better, and you even started your experiments up again. Little did I know that a month later, you would be right back in the hospital again…

I can still hear you moaning my name…..”


	17. Chapter 17

“It didn’t happen all at once, mind you. You looked a lot better, and you even told me that you took one pill a day instead of two. You were up again, playing your violin that’s been neglected for a while. Kylie loved listening to you play Mary Had A Little Lamb. And I can’t tell you how thankful I was for playing those lullabies when we were trying to get her to sleep. Your violin was something I loved hearing, which was when you weren’t playing it at insane hours of the night and I didn’t realize that I missed it so much. I remember Kylie and I were sat in front of you, sometimes you realized, and other times you didn’t. Either way, I enjoyed the concertos you played for us, whether you noticed or not.

Your experiments, I didn’t miss them so much. I had to constantly tell you to not place the substance that looked a lot like the milk that I had to feed Kylie so close to the actual bottle. As usual, you failed to listen. But then you finally started to do it, and gone were the worries of if I fed Kylie milk or your weird goop. I’d like to think that I gave her the right one because she never uttered a complaint, or maybe she liked the taste of whatever it was you had. I don’t know, and I’m moving on now.

You tried to get Greg to give you a few cases to go on. I was a bit worried, Sherlock, you just had surgery, and the last thing I needed was to call an ambulance while we’re chasing after a criminal because your wound re-opened or something. And besides, we had Kylie; we couldn’t run around London willy-nilly now because we felt like it. In the very least, we needed a babysitter who would be able to spend the night, and Molly was a busy woman, believe it or not. But we couldn’t let you get bored, because we all know what you being bored includes, and I didn’t need the headache so we agreed to give you the cold cases that didn’t require the physical effort, or if it did, it was minimal. You were disappointed of course, but you accepted them. A case is better than no cases. You were sat on the couch, or your chair, or in the bed whenever we were getting ready to retire, reading the case files and mumbling to yourself about the suspects’ alibis. It was adorable, up until the point where you were waking me up to validate your opinion. I would wake up some nights and find you curled up next to me with the case files underneath your arm. I would give you a light kiss on the cheek and slide the files from under you. You never even stirred. Kylie would be down with Mrs. Hudson until you woke up, because I had to get to work. In those few minutes before the sun really came out, and before everyone in the flat would start their day, there was a quiet. It was peaceful. I would stand by the kitchen counter for a few minutes just soaking it up. I don’t even know what peaceful means anymore.

This is how our days went, I would wake up and find you passed out next to me, and then send Kylie down to Mrs. Hudson before going to work. I would come back to find you sat at the table busying yourself with your experiments, or the case you’ve been given. Kylie would be downstairs keeping Mrs. Hudson happy and I would be content. When you finally acknowledged my presence, you stood up from the chair and walked over to me. You would give me a kiss and then ask me how work was and I would tell you the same thing every day.

‘It would have been better if you were there.’

You would smile and say something like, ‘You would prefer it if I was at your job?’

I shrug and then tell you that I would enjoy working there more. We would both laugh, and then continue with what we were doing. I felt good with where we were you know with the surgery being a success and Kylie joining the family. I had everyone where I wanted them to be.

Until the weeks that followed after, that is.

I noticed that you were taking the pills again, even more than usual. I had to warn you, overdosing on painkillers didn’t seem like a smart choice, did it Sherlock? And whenever I was home, which was a lot more now since I was worried about you. You would make these brief faces of discomfort and press a hand to your stomach, or where they operated. This got me worked up, Sherlock, because I’m your husband and I was your doctor, so any time you acted like you were in pain it set me into doctor-mode. Every time I asked about you, if you were okay, if you needed anything, you would shake your head and tell me that it is nothing that I should worry about something else. You were hiding something from me once again, and frankly, Sherlock, I was tired of it. I nearly got fired so taking so many days off, but they could sod off. You came first, always.

I thought that it was the wound acting up because you stopped making complaints, and you didn’t look like you were in pain anymore. I still kept a close eye on you, you were a skilled actor, Sherlock, and I knew how you operated. You always acted like there was nothing wrong with you, but there was, and you never told me anything. I can’t say that I have the right to get mad at you because I did the same.

I remember going into work for a few minutes, I had to stop off to get something, and I brought Kylie with me because I figured she could use the fresh air. I got what I needed fairly quickly, some papers and whatnot, along with a new pair of socks in one of the stores I was walking past. Part of me was glad that you weren’t there, Sherlock. You would’ve made all the women who hit on me cry. It was upsetting me when I told them I was married to you, they all automatically assumed that I was gay because I was married to you; I know it took me a long time to come to terms with it, but bisexuality is a thing as well. And besides, even if I was gay, I would still be the happiest man in the world to be married to you. They all walked off, pissed because they couldn’t reel in their catch of the day, and I left the store to get back to you.

‘Sherlock, it’s getting close to lunch time.’ I said loudly to get your attention, if I haven’t already caught it by the pounding in the steps and Kylie’s gurgles here and there. ‘What do you want to eat?’ I was planning on ordering takeaway because there was no way Kylie was going to let me cook anything that afternoon. You didn’t respond to me the first time, and you weren’t in the kitchen or the living area, so you had to be in the bedroom. I reiterated my question again, and then I heard your voice, it was weaker and it sounded strained. I rushed to our bedroom to find you laying on our bed moaning.

‘John…’ God, you sounded like a zombie. I placed Kylie in her crib and then joined you on the bed. You were curled up into a ball so it was harder for me to examine you.

‘Easy Sherlock, I have to check you. Where does it hurt?’ I was trying to be as gentle as possible because you looked like you were in extreme pain, and I need to have some sort of diagnosis before I called the ambulance. You told me it was your stomach, and so I felt around for any abnormalities. Save for the surgery mark, there were none. Whatever was happening to your stomach was internal, and we would need the paramedics for this one.

‘I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I have to.’

You sounded like you were protesting, but I had to do it. You were in pain, and I couldn’t have you in pain. I picked up my mobile and dialed 999. I informed them of what was going on and they said that they’ll be there as quickly as they could. They got there in about eight minutes, you made an off-hand comment about that one day, and I thought it was completely random, but now the information is as useful as ever. They were placing you onto the gurney softly, but you wouldn’t let go of me. You hated hospital, I know you did Sherlock, but it was for your own good. You were carried out of the cart and into the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me join you. Kylie was crying and I was sitting on the bed trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened. I remember saying that this is nothing, just some stomach bug; you would be back home later today.

I wanted to know why nothing ever went my way. I grabbed Kylie and made my way to Barts, hoping that you were okay…”


	18. Chapter 18

"...So there...there we were, back in hospital, you were sick, we knew that. Your stomach, it was your stomach, I told them that you were experiencing extreme pain in your abdomen and that I checked you over to see if it was external. One of them recognized me but not because of the war, he remembered me from med school. Said that I was one of the few students who knew what they were doing, told me that he admired me for that. It seemed odd I must admit, Sherlock, there were so few people that knew me before Afghanistan, before the army, when I was just 'Doctor Watson'. Good ole' Doctor Watson...

Of course, that was all he said to me. He was a smart lad and could tell that I wasn't in the mood to hold a conversation, so he backed off. It was the man next to him that came up to me. He looked a bit smug if you asked me.

'Mister Holmes-Watson, I presume? Or should I be calling you Doctor?' He wasn't trying to sound like a prat, but he was the result of a privileged man who was given even more privilege. I bet he felt closer to God with all that power. It's not like you would know anything about being middle-class, Sherlock, you were posh, and a tad snobbish. I do think that you would have hated this man if you weren't ill at the time, Lord knows that I did. I gave a smile, a very terse one at that.

'I don't care about what you call me, is my husband alright? Is Sherlock okay?' I noticed the faint flicker of disgust in his eyes once I told him that I was your husband. It was the same look my father gave Harry when she came out as a lesbian. I didn't want him as your doctor, Sherlock, I requested that somebody else take over your care, I would have even done it myself if I could, but instead they made my old med school colleague in charge of your convalescence. I was happy, there was no way in hell you were going to be put in the hands of that homophobic prick. But before I did all of that, Doctor Prick informed me of your condition. He said that it was something to do with the surgery, that there were complications. I suspected as much, but I wanted to know more, I wanted to understand what exactly was wrong with you. Unfortunately, he told me that they would have to run a few tests in order to form the correct diagnosis, I was disappointed, but then I asked them where you were located. It was the other doctor, the one who went to med school with me, who led me to your room. It was the same number as our flat, I think they did that on purpose. I opened the door just as he turned to walk away and saw you lying in the bed. You were sleeping, but you looked so pale, paler than usual. I made careful steps to your bedside, you only slept that heavily when you were very tired. I pulled up the chair next to your bed and took a seat. You were snoring, well your breaths were a little bit harder than when you normally sleep. Your mouth hung open a bit, but it would close after a few minutes whenever you swallowed. I was grateful for your being asleep because then you wouldn't hit me for calling you adorable. While I was watching you sleep, I took one of my hands and rested it on your cheek and stroked it with the pad of my thumb. You reacted to the touch by giving a small smile, you knew it was me, I was the only one who could touch you like that. Pretty soon your eyes fluttered open and I was met with your beautiful blue eyes. They were a mixture of green and blue then.

'John...' You sounded weak, and you definitely looked the part too. Your breathing was shallow and your movement was slowed. You were very ill, love. You moved one of your hands, the one that was resting on the bed, and placed it over my own. You were happy to see me, I knew that you were scared, Sherlock. You weren't alone in that feeling.

I smiled and then moved in to kiss you. It was heaven. When we pulled away I slid my hand from your cheek and made my way to your stomach and placed my hand on it.

'Are you alright?' I whispered it to you because I felt like I was going to irritate you by speaking normally.

'I could be feeling worse,' You replied. We both laughed, but the air in the room was still tense. You weren't okay and I wasn't okay. You were in pain and I think we both knew but we didn't want to say anything, we wanted to pretend I guess, we wanted to be in each other's company without any worries. Not that time. The doctor came back in, not Doctor Prick, the other one. I don't think that he could handle seeing me show my love and support for you whilst giving your diagnosis. Good, I was glad that he wasn't in the room, I probably would have punched him then. I removed my hand from your stomach and placed it on the mattress, I felt the warmth of your hand again a few seconds later. A faint smile tugged at my lips.

'Yes, what is it doctor?' I asked him. He looked surprised that I was calling him by his profession, I think that I was experiencing a case of "Hero Worship". He stuttered a bit but then got himself back on track.

'I've got the results, er, the diagnosis here.' I gave him a nod to show that I...that we wanted to hear it.

'It seems that you, Mister Holmes-Watson, your....it's about the cancer...' Your eyebrow rose and your eyes darted over at me.

'What about it?' I wanted to know, you can't give a doctor a half-arsed diagnosis, especially when it comes to someone they care about. After a few minutes of silence, of the doctor's hesitation, he finally spoke up.

'...I'm afraid that...the cancer made a reappearance...' He didn't stop the sentence, he just sort of rushed it all out in a whisper. He knew, he had sympathy for us. I think his name was...Andrew...good lad. He swallowed hard and then started talking again.

'Well, it's not that bad, you can still go home, but you'll need to rest and a lot of it. I'm sure that your husband will see to that, won't you?' He gestured over to me.

I gave you a quick once over and gave a curt nod.

'Of course I will.' I half responded to the doctor, but I was talking to you mainly, because you were the one that mattered. You shifted a bit so that you were almost sitting up. It looked like you tired yourself out just by doing that.

'Oh, I'm sure he'll see to that. He wouldn't be my John if he didn't confine me to our bed.' You joked. I've always loved hearing you call me your John because I was your John, and it'll always remain that way. The doctor smiled at the both of us. I think he was proud of our relationship, I don't know.

'However, we will need to keep a close eye on you. I'm sorry, but we have to.' He interjected. He felt bad for your cancer returning, but it never left your system. If I was the one operating on you, I would've made sure that every cancerous cell in your body was removed and then I would have kept a very watchful eye over you because...because that's the over-protective husband in me. You would have hated me, Sherlock, but I think you did anyway because I rarely let you move from the bed.

The doctor left the room and it was just me and you once again. We didn't say anything for a long time, we were both staring at each other searching for the other's reaction through our eyes. Sometimes I hated the fact that we were so good at hiding our emotions, but other times I loved it. I loved it because we wouldn't burden the other with our issues, but then again I hated it because we couldn't share our issues with each other. Neither of us knew how.

'You know, John,' You began, 'I...I had my suspicions about the surgery being a success, about it not working, about them missing something...but I had you and so I figured that nothing bad could happen when you are at my side. A small part of me knew that it didn't work, that I wasn't cancer-free...'

'Sherlock, hush.' I interrupted, 'Neither of us knew that this would happen, I wasn't going to think of that because I didn't need you to worry about it more than you already were. Do I know that surgery doesn't go great all the time? Yeah, of course, I do, and so do you.' I saw your eyes piercing right through mine, but I kept talking. ' I told myself that I was going to stick by you no matter what happens, and here I am, sticking by you.' I paused briefly so that I can take your hand. It was clammy, but I didn't mind.

'You're my Sherlock, you understand?' I wanted to make sure that we came to the same understanding. Through sickness and health, remember Sherlock?

It was then I saw you look so soft and human as you let my words sink in. You looked unbearably tired, but you didn't stop staring at me for a second. It was then when I saw your warm smile that I knew I reached you. I kissed you, and you kissed me back.

'I understand, John.' The words were simple, but they held so much meaning for you and me. I kissed you again and then walked over to the other side of the bed, you knew what I was doing and so you moved over so that I could have room to lie with you. It was still fairly early outside, the sun was just about to set and you were already sleeping because of the medicine that you were given and also, the fact that you were ill. I didn't fall asleep until much later that night. I was thinking about everything, you would have to have chemotherapy, if your cancer was aggressive enough. You wouldn't be able to go on cases anymore, you would have to be stuck solving cases via files, I would need help from the others so that I could take care of Kylie and you. I knew how unhappy you would be, but I was prepared to help you through it. The last thing, I remember doing, was placing a gentle kiss on your clammy forehead and then closed my eyes. The scent of your hair filled my nostrils that night. A smell that I ache for now, Sherlock..."

 


	19. Chapter 19

"...Turns out that you did need chemo....and how awful those weeks were, Sherlock. But in the days before that, when you came back home...I don't know what I'm trying to do because it wasn't any better. You were so weak, weaker than before. Your skin was so pale and your curls...your soft, beautiful, bouncing curls, they were lifeless and sprawled all over your clammy forehead. You were sweating, but you were cold, Sherlock. Your eyes, they looked so tired, you wanted to sleep, everything was becoming so hard on you and taking so much of your energy, I practically had to carry you up the steps. You were on the painkillers when we got back to the flat, you complained about wanting to sleep, and then you asked if Mrs. Hudson was muddling with your things again. I smiled and told you that everything was as you left it and that seemed to calm you down. Or maybe the medicine did, I don't know. I do, but I don't want to believe that I'm right, Sherlock. I won't accept that thought, along with many others.

As soon as we entered the flat, I led you to our bed and set you down softly, so gently that you probably didn't even know that you were on the bed. I slid your coat off and draped it over the crib, Kylie wasn't in it, she was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson and Molly. They heard us come in but they wanted to wait, to let you get your bearings together. I can't imagine how you felt, Sherlock, all the moving...all the moving...you just wanted to rest. You didn't have a choice then. Your shoes and socks came off next, I had to help you slide into your pajamas since there was no way you were going to be able to do it on your own, not with all the medication they gave you before we left. Just to be safe, they said. Your face was sullen and you didn't put up much of a fuss as I put your trousers on and then your shirt. You looked at me and your lip was quivering, you wanted to say something, you had something to say and I wanted you to say it. I wanted you to talk, I wanted you to insult me, to tell me that I forgot to fold your dress shirt, that I was too frantic, hell I even wanted you to tell me that you had to piss. I wanted to hear your voice so desperately, Sherlock. Anything, I wanted you to still be there, to still be Sherlock. 'Stay...' That was all your fragile voice said to me. Stay. Stay with you, keep you company, stay with you so that we could be like we used to, before Kylie, before anything. I long for the days where we laid in bed and told each other the most embarrassing thing we've ever experienced, or our guilty pleasures, or our favorite foods. I wanted us to be the happily married couple we hardly got to be, Sherlock and John Holmes-Watson. That's who we were. I was your caretaker then, yours and Kylie's. I still loved you, and you still loved me, but this was not how I wanted us to be, to end up. You were sick and we had a newborn baby who barely got to spend any time with her parents because I was off at work or taking care of you. I hope Kylie forgives us. I hope she knows that we love her.

You told me to stay, your hand was latched onto my sleeve and you were wrinkling it. How you pleaded Sherlock, quietly, your eyes were watered and your lips were pursed. You wanted me to lay down with you and you wanted me to love you and I wanted to love you. I let out a sigh, you would have hated yourself, Sherlock. You would have spat at yourself and told yourself that you were displaying a gross amount of sentiment. You were so painfully human Sherlock, and I think you hated that about yourself because you've been hurt so many times. You didn't want to hurt anymore.

'Stay...' Your voice, it wasn't deep and baritone like I was used to, it was weak and strained. I was mad at myself for showing you pity, because you hated that. But you needed somebody, you needed your husband, and I wasn't going to leave you alone.

I took off my shoes and I crept into the bed with you, underneath the covers. I watched as your mouth contorted into the faintest of smiles as you breathed in my scent. You pulled yourself into my embrace and you wrapped your arms around me and let out a sigh. We were staring at each other, and then I kissed you on your forehead and then made my way to your cheek, and then your mouth. I pulled away and then kissed you again, you returned the kiss. I pulled away again and pushed your head farther into my chest and I stroked your hair and told you that everything was going to be okay. I told you that I loved you and that nothing would ever change that. You smiled again and said, 'You don't find me repulsive? My clammy skin, my pale complexion, none of that bothers you?'

I chuckled and said something like, 'You don't look that different from when we first met.'

We joked, and we got a piece of what we once were, even for a short moment, we were like how we used to be and then as the moment sunk in we both realized how much we missed it, didn't we Sherlock? After that, we didn't talk, we didn't even look at each other. You closed your eyes and in time, I knew that you fell asleep. Good, you needed the rest. I needed it too. I slipped out of the bed and managed to make my way down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat, to see our Kylie. She got so big, Sherlock. She grew so much, her eyes, so big and so blue, they were so perfect to me. She's so perfect, Sherlock. She smiled at the sight of me and I picked her up. I was always cautious whilst holding her, she was such a small and fragile thing, I think I was always afraid of breaking her somehow, like she was a doll. I felt guilty for leaving her like this, for teasing her the way I was. I would hold her, pass her off to Mrs. Hudson or Molly and then walk away to tend to you. Sometimes I found myself wondering if we could even raise Kylie at the moment if we made a mistake of adopting her, but then I look into her bright eyes and watch as her chubby cheeks spread as she smiles and then I know that I...that we made the right choice in keeping her. In loving her.

Molly asked about you, she wanted to know if you were improving. I don't think I answered her completely, I told her that it was too soon to say because you were heavily medicated and she accepted my answer. I don't think that she wanted me to answer honestly, and I'm glad she didn't because then I wouldn't have answered her question. Mrs. Hudson made some passing remark like, 'The poor dear, I'll stop off tomorrow to see if he's alright.' I smiled as I stared down at Kylie. Our Kylie.

After I put Kylie to sleep that night, I crawled back into the bed and you were still asleep. I stared at your sleeping form for a while before I fell asleep myself.

 

The day before you started chemotherapy, I remember we had two visitors that same day. Mycroft and Lestrade. They weren't back-to-back mind you, but it was rare that we had that many visitors in one day. Mycroft came first. You were well enough to move around on your own...on good days that was...you managed to relocate to the couch and you laid there and watched telly with me. You were uncharacteristically quiet. Not a single insult was hurled towards the show. 

He waltzed into the flat, as Mrs. Hudson let him in. His eyes scanned the flat before they landed on you. I don't know how to describe it, Sherlock. When he saw you laying there, your head resting on the pillow, your face ruddy and pale, your tired eyes, his face was unreadable. He stared at you for a long time before either of you said anything to each other. I sat there in my chair with Kylie in my lap. I should have got up and went into the room, but I didn't move. I wanted to see how this went, and no, not because I got my rocks off, but because I needed to be there in case Mycroft was being a bit too pushy.

'Hello, brother dear', you said to him. He only gave a quick nod and inched closer towards you. He was hesitant, like he didn't know how to handle your condition. I admit, I wouldn't be able to face it if my younger sibling were to contract cancer either.

He looked like he wanted to say something to you, but then Kylie gurgled and his head darted over to her and me. He gave something of a smile but then focused on you again.

'How are you feeling, Sherlock?' He was genuinely concerned about you.

'I've seen better days, Mycroft.' you answered. I had the strange notion that the conversation wasn't going to last very long. Sadly, I was right.

'Have you been back to the doctor?' He inquired.

'I have, and I've been told that I'm to start chemotherapy.' You said without even looking up at him. Your eyes were closed. He looked disappointed, if that's even the right word for the way he looked. I don't know why he couldn't just tell you that he was worried about you, why he had to create a bigger rift between the two of you. It was apparent that he loved you, Sherlock, he only needed to say it.

'Ah...when? If you don't mind my asking.' Everything was so tense between you two, but I've opted to stay out of it, it was up to you two to mend things.

'...Tomorrow...' You breathed. Mycroft was frozen for a good minute before he found the words and actions. Which were very few, I might add.

'Oh.' That was all he said before he stared into space. The flat was silent. Then he snapped out of it and started fiddling with his umbrella. He took a few deep breaths and then gave his usual wry smile.

'Yes well...I'll come back soon to check up on you, politics can be very demanding at times. Until next time little brother.'

He looked over at me and gave me a dismissive nod before walking out of the flat. I thought I heard you whisper something like 'Prat' under your breath.

It wasn't a few hours later when you rose off of the couch and walked over to me. You told me that you weren't feeling well again and that you were going to have a kip. You kissed me and then retired to our room. The kips were happening daily then, you needed one every day. A bit after that, Greg showed up and told me that he had some cases for you, just a few cold cases that didn't require physical work. I told him that you were asleep and his smile wavered.

'How's he been?' He asked me. His eyes motioned over to our bedroom. I told him that your health was sporadic. You were fine some days, but those days were rare. He rubbed the back of his neck at the reply. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

'Look, I know that this is hard for you. Don't hesitate to give me a ring, I care about him too, you know?' I knew that, of course, I did. I wasn't one for socializing then, Sherlock. I only talked to you, Mrs. Hudson and Molly. Taking care of both Kylie and you was very tiring, but I don't regret a thing. I gave him a brief smile and he removed his hand from my shoulder. He made his way to Kylie; I was holding her. He grinned and then placed a hand on her cheek. I don't think this was the first time he's met her, but he wasn't around much.

'Take care of them. I know you will, John.' He said. He knew me well.

Just like that he left the flat, said something about getting back to the Yard before the others strangled the new recruit, I don't know. He left me alone to my thoughts and Kylie. I couldn't help but worry about you, Sherlock. Of course, my worrying increased when you started the chemotherapy...days I'd rather forget..."


	20. Chapter 20

"You hated the chemo so much, Sherlock. The first day we went to hospital to start your therapy, you were so upset. You crossed your arms and pouted for the whole cab ride. Even though, you didn't let me, I laid a hand on your thigh and gave it a squeeze. You weren't talking to me, but I had your attention. I told you that everything was going to be fine, this will only take a few hours, I said that we could go home and watch any movie you wished. I wasn't treating you as a child because you aren't a child. You were nervous, and you had every reason to be, chemotherapy wasn't easy. You were so brave, love, you didn't fight the nurse as she sat you in the chair and prepped you for the session. You looked at me and your eyes were big and they were scared, I might even go so far as to say that your lip trembled. I gave you a smile as I took your hand. There were several other people sitting in the same area as us, some of them looked about your age, like they just started, the others there...those were the ones I didn't want you to look at. You were eyeing this woman who was sitting adjacent to us. Her hair was already gone and her skin had a yellow tint to it. Her eyes were closed as she sat back in the chair. She didn't have much time left. You looked at me and I could tell you wanted to leave, Sherlock, you wanted me to stop the machine so that we could return home and cuddle on the sofa. I couldn't do that. I didn't enjoy watching you get pumped full of medicine that made you sicker than the actual cancer, I didn't enjoy watching you squirm around with your arm firmly placed on the rest. I didn't enjoy seeing you suffer.

You looked so tired in that chair, Sherlock. Your hand was firmly grasping mine, but your eyes were closed and your head was tilting back. You were taking your midday nap, the nurses saw you sleeping, and then they saw me and left you alone. Your naps were frequent, and at that point, it was a part of your daily schedule. You woke up, ate something at my behest, watched some telly with me, work on the case that Greg drops off, kip, and then wake up at least two hours later and begin the cycle anew. I was almost tempted to wake you up, but you were tired and you needed rest and so I let you nap. The area we were in was quite possibly the quietest room in the hospital, understandably so. What would people say to one another? There was a lot of suffering in that room, Sherlock, but it was silent. And people who suffered in silence were the ones who hurt the most. Your session was three hours long, I couldn't help but feel bad for some of the poor sods there. Who knows they would be sat in those chairs? The amount of chemotherapy a person had to get depended on the severity of their illness. Luckily, yours wasn't too bad. At least, not yet it wasn't. I woke you up, you didn't wake until the fifth nudge or so. You looked so worn, Sherlock, and I knew that the medicine wasn't helping either. I wasted no time in getting you out of there.

'Are we going home now?' You asked me. I nodded and gave you a warm smile. You wanted a bed and you wanted your kip. I just wanted you to feel better.

You passed out on the bed as soon as your face hit the pillow back at the flat. I did the usual and stripped you into your pajamas. You didn't even nudge. I would have found it cute if it didn't worry me so much. I remember telling myself that this was temporary, that you would go back to being you, the Sherlock Holmes that I fell in love with. You didn't want to be sick, you could barely manage when you had a cold. You were a sniffling, whining mess.

...I just made myself laugh...can't remember the last time I did that.

Anyway, while you slept, I did what I had always done and killed time by turning to the telly to watch the news or flipping through the pages of the paper, but not taking the time to read any of the stories. Kylie was asleep herself, she was in the crib sleeping. The flat was so quiet, and as the hours passed, I found myself wishing for one of you to wake up. I know that it was probably selfish of me, but it does get boring being alone. On some days, I would curl up in the bed with you, but I wouldn't sleep. I would stare at the wall while I inhaled the scent of your curls and think. I thought about what was to come, what would happen to you, to Kylie, to me. I thought about you getting sicker, and then I thought about what would happen if you needed to be admitted to the hospital if it got bad enough...and then I scared myself and kissed you to calm down. I didn't want to think about those things, love, but you were ill, and I hated not being able to do anything about it.

You kept going back for your chemotherapy, and each time you would come back tired and weak. They didn't even give you the stronger drugs yet, and you could barely handle the medicine they were giving you already. For a few weeks, the only side effect of your therapy sessions was that you fell asleep by the time we got back home. I thought to myself, 'I can handle that...that isn't so bad.'

But then the days turned into weeks, and your reaction to the chemo got worse.

The first time I've noticed it was when we came back to the flat. I brought Kylie with us this time. You stared at her during the session and you smiled to yourself as she laid on my chest and stared at the needle sticking out of your arm. As usual, I would set Kylie in her crib and then help you get ready for your afternoon kip. You fell asleep almost instantly, and that didn't rouse any suspicion in me. It was after the fact, when I was nearing sleep in my chair that I heard your moans coming from the room. Immediately my mind went back to the first time you shouted for me like that and in no time, I was up and in our room. You were hunched over the side of the bed throwing up. There was no food in it, it was just liquid and bile. The floor was ruined with your vomit, but that wasn't at the forefront of my mind. You were in pain and I needed to stop it. I was at your side on the bed and I rubbed your back as you dry heaved over the side. I couldn't find any bins near me and I didn't want you to be alone. I was resigned to clean up your sick. You moaned and you dry-heaved, and then you got sick again, and then you called me. I kissed your curls and I took your dressing gown off as you crawled over to the side of the bed. You were sweaty, and your curls were sticking to your forehead, and your skin was paler than I've ever seen. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your mouth was stained with the vomit. You looked so awful, Sherlock. My Sherlock...

'John!' Your hoarse shouts filled the flat. I was surprised that Kylie could sleep through all of that, to be honest. I had to keep telling you that I was holding you, that I had you, that you needn't call for me because I was already beside you. I thought you were crying, but you were heaving again, your poor throat after all of that. I think it took about half an hour before you actually calmed down. You sank into the bed and I pulled the covers over you. You were shaking and whimpering, but you still weren't crying. I knew, I knew that it was going to happen soon, the chemo was going to get to you, I knew that you weren't going to get away scot-free like you were so used to. I'm so sorry, for not stopping the pain, Sherlock. I was your doctor, I was supposed to stop the pain...

I gave you some of the painkillers and a glass of water so that your throat wouldn't be dried to hell. You didn't fight me, you probably didn't have the strength to. You swallowed the pills and the water and then you laid back down. I set the glass on the nightstand and stroked your curls. I kissed you, even though my lips were glossed with your sweat. I told you that it was the drugs making you sick like this. You nodded your head, at least you were listening to me.

'It hurts...' You told me in the softest voice. I longed for your regular, deep one, I missed hearing your voice. You were in agony at that moment, Sherlock

I told you that the painkillers should start kicking in soon and that all you needed to do was try and sleep. I placed the rubbish bin on your side of the bed so that you wouldn't get sick all over the floor. You whimpered for a while before you went to sleep again. I made a reminder to get you to take a bath once you woke up again. I cleaned up your mess as you slept.

That wasn't even the worst part of the chemotherapy, remember? Remember how weak you got? How skinny you became, skinnier than what was normal for you, and you were so...so pale...Jesus you were so pale...your eyes, they looked sunken in and every time I looked at them...gone were the days your eyes shone with the spark of excitement. They were sullen and dull and I knew, I knew that I was losing my Sherlock. The cancer...I wanted it gone, I wished that I could just...just pull it out of your body. You were so unhappy...

You were sat on our bed one night, or was it in the afternoon? I forget. You weren't under the covers, you were just sitting there. You looked miles away, and you were frowning. Your frowns killed me, I just wanted you to smile like you used to, Sherlock. I was stood in the doorway for a while, about five to ten minutes. You didn't even blink. I walked over to you and I said your name once, twice, three times and there was no response. I was going to leave you alone and let you have your privacy but then I heard your baritone voice.

'It fell out...' You still didn't move. I was confused and so I asked you what was falling out and your eyes got glassy and I immediately felt bad for asking you. You held up your hand to me and then you opened it. You were holding a tuft of your hair.

'It fell out...I was combing it and then it...it fell out...' You restated. Your voice was broken. I must admit, I would never have imagined you crying about hair, but you were. The tears fell from your eyes and slid down the uncomfortably visible cheekbones.

'I'm going to go bald, aren't I?' You loved your hair so much, sure you would make little comments about how stubborn it could be, but you loved each curl on that head, the curls are part of what made you...you. I knew how much you were hurting about this, I pulled into an embrace but I didn't stroke your curls, I didn't want to be the reason for more of them falling out. You asked me again if you were going to go bald, and I told you that I couldn't answer that, I didn't know.

'But you're a doctor, of course you do...don't sugarcoat this, John...' You were so angry, love. You wanted something to be angry at, and of course it was me. I didn't get upset about it because you had every right to be angry, I was angry. This shouldn't have happened to us.

'Shh...' I whispered. I told you that there could be a chance that you wouldn't go completely bald, that you would still have some of the curls that you held so dear. You didn't believe me. Of course you didn't, you were smarter than that, you were my genius, my darling genius.

And this not even how bad it got..."


	21. Chapter 21

"...And then you broke down again about a week later. This time it was when you were in the bath. You could move by yourself, Sherlock, but you would eventually need somebody to help you around the house and that somebody was me. You needed a bath, you didn't bathe for several days, and I wanted you to take care of yourself or else you would get worse, but you weren't having any of it. I helped you off the bed and let you support yourself on me as we walked to the bathroom. I told you that I prepared your bath already and you shrugged. When we got to the bathroom, I let you stand as I started to take off your clothes. You batted me away with your hand.

'I am not completely useless, John, I can do this much.' You said to me. For a brief moment, I was actually glad that you did that. I thought that you were finally coming around, but then I realized that it was because you were angry at me because there was nothing else you could get angry at. I watched as you struggled and I fought every urge to rush over and help you. You got it eventually, but you asked for my help in getting in the tub. I started to scrub your back because I knew that you were already tired and I wanted to save you as much time as possible. You looked so downtrodden when I cleaned you. You were a bit reluctant at first, you wouldn't let me lift up your arms so that I could get under them. I let you clean the rest of your body, but I just needed to get your back.

'Come on, love,' I sighed, 'I'm nearly finished. I'll leave you alone soon after.'

You looked like an angry cat soaked in water.

'I want you to go away now.' You said to me. You didn't mean to be so harsh, you were upset and you were exhausted. You didn't see me frown and I was glad that you didn't because then I would have started a war.

'Please, John, I can do it...' Your voice died down and you left the sentence incomplete. I was almost done scrubbing your back, but the sound of your voice...it was so soft and so broken. I couldn't bear to see you that way. You were so confident and prideful, it was so hard to see you like that. You were desperately clinging to what you were before, Sherlock, and so was I. Sometimes I thought that I was sleeping, that we were on a case and of course you refused to let me sleep and so I ended up passing out in the chair. I wanted to believe that this was a nightmare, that I would wake up and have you lying next to me with your messy curls and sleepy face smiling at me. I wanted everything but what we were living to be true.

But it was. And we lived it.

Staring at you in that tub, a grown man being bathed like he was a child, it must have been so humiliating to you. I set the cloth in your hand and I gave your soapy, wet curls a kiss, and I left you alone. I was with Kylie for a good hour, I wasn't sure if you were taking your sweet time, or if you really had to take an hour to wash yourself. You were the one who hogged all of the hot water in the flat when you took your ridiculously long showers, but this time I knew that wasn't the case.

I remember holding Kylie and staring at her as she smiled at me. She was so innocent, so clueless about the situation around her, the situation she was born into. My smile was apologetic and I stroked her cheek. 

'Daddy's having a rough time of it, Kylie,' I started to say. I felt like she deserved an explanation at least, even though she had no idea what I was saying. I felt bad for her, Sherlock.

'He's ill and there's nothing I can do to cure him. You can forgive him if he's a bit distant, Kylie, he's just really sad and he doesn't know how to handle it.' I pressed my lips to her forehead and gently rocked her back and forth. You were deathly quiet in there and I didn't stop worrying for a second.

'But I know that he still cares for us very much, and we...well I have to support him even though he pushes us away. He still needs us.'

I was cut off by your voice calling my name. You were signalling that you wanted to get out. I set Kylie down in the crib and went into the bathroom. You were reaching for the towel that was folded on the toilet seat. You couldn't seem to get it without the risk of falling out of the tub.

'John!' I heard you shout again, you failed to see me standing in the doorway yet again because you were preoccupied with the towel. I walked over to you and grabbed your hands.

'Easy, love, easy...' I said as you looked like you were panicking. You settled back into the water at the sight of me and your eyes were wide and you looked like your chest was heaving like you were catching your breath.

'I want the towel, John...so I can get out.' Your eyes danced over to the towel again and I grabbed it and opened it up. I held your hand and supported you as you got up and then you wrapped the towel around your waist. I pulled the plug so that the water could drain and then helped you as you stepped over the edge of the tub to get out. It was then I noticed how thin you really were. Your wrist, it was sharp and that was all kinds of not good because that meant that I could feel your bone. You were always a skinny person, Sherlock, but that was the limit. I made a mental note to myself to make sure you ate when you woke up from your kip. But until then, I needed to get you to the bed. You sat yourself on the bed and then moved the covers so that you could lay down. I started to stroke your hair, but that didn't lift your spirits at all.

'After you wake up, we're going to have takeout, alright?'

You didn't respond, and I decided to leave you alone because you looked like you weren't in the mood. Before I left, I heard you talking.

'Can you...will you lay with me? Please? You always leave the room, can you not stand to look at me?' You asked me. Your tone was darkened as you said the last part. I was shocked to even hear you say that, Sherlock because you knew that that wasn't true at all.

What kind of thing is that to say, Sherlock? You know that's not true.' I said to you. You clutched at the blanket harder and said, 'So lay with me, John.'

In almost no time, I was curled up in the bed with you again. I told myself to start on supper once we woke up. You were important in that moment, you were always important. Kylie managed to lull herself to sleep, and the flat was quiet. Instead of watching you sleep, Sherlock, I slept with you. Of course, that didn't last very long.

My dreams consisted of you being in pain, Sherlock. Pain I couldn't stand to watch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will be longer!


	22. Chapter 22

"...It was well into the evening hours before we woke up, Sherlock. I was the one to wake up first, thankfully Kylie was still asleep, but she needed to be fed and so did we. You were barely eating and that wasn't good for your already fragile health, love. I was determined to make you eat whether you liked it or not.

I nuzzled my face into your soft, and thinning curls. Each time you went back for chemo, the more your hair fell out. Thankfully, you didn't go completely bald, but I don't think that you cared about that anymore. I whispered your name and told you that we had to get up and, of course, your response was a groan. I removed my face from your hair and then started to move it out of your face. Your eyes were closed, but I knew that you were awake, otherwise you wouldn't be answering me. I peppered delicate kisses all over your neck in hopes that it would persuade you into getting up. It got a reaction, but not the one that I was looking for. You rolled over to face me, your eyes were tired and you looked positively drained. Your hand made its way to my cheek and you gave it soothing rubs. Such a small act of affection, but it left me wanting more.

'John,' Your voice was still soft and riddled with sleep, 'Your stubble is coming back.'

I hadn't noticed that until you mentioned it. Immediately my hand rose to where yours was and I felt around. You were right, I felt the prickliness that was my stubble. It hadn't dawned on me that I neglected to shave for the past few days. I didn't have my husband to tell me that I was growing a beard. I passed it off lightly and a small smile spread on my lips.

'Yeah well, it's not like I've exactly had the time to shave, you know I've been busy.'

You smiled, but it wasn't one of happiness. We didn't say anything after my awful attempt at a joke. At least, I didn't think of it as a joke, I thought of it as the truth because...wasn't it? I also haven't seen not one of our friends in weeks because my days had been full of taking care of you and Kylie. I'm sorry, love, I don't mean to sound so bitter it's just that...no, it wasn't your fault. You didn't want the cancer, of course you didn't, why would anyone want it? I guess I'm still a little angry about it and what it did to us. What it took from us. Sherlock I...no...I...I lost track of what I was saying.

I rose out of the bed first and helped you get up. Your curls were pointing out in every direction, but you either didn't care or you just didn't mind that. I know that I didn't. Kylie was awake, to my surprise, I thought that she woke up when she heard the sound of our voices. You were already in the living room when I entered it. You were sitting on the couch looking at the blank telly screen. It wasn't until the sunlight hit you that I saw just how unhealthy you were and I knew that it wasn't going to be long until you had to go back to the hospital and wouldn't be able to come back to the flat. I just wanted you for a little longer, love, was that so bad? I was doing everything right. I took care of you, I loved you, and you loved me. I did deserve to have you, right? I was a good husband to you.

You turned to face me and Kylie. Kylie was at least three or four months old by then. As she grew, the only thing that got bigger were her adorable eyes and cheeks. She's such a pretty little girl now, Sherlock, I know that I'll have to knock some heads when she gets around boys later on.

 

You smiled and I walked over to you. I told you that I had to feed her first and you nodded. I set her in the highchair that Molly bought us before she was born. I turned the chair so that she could face you. I thought that I was imagining things, but I could have sworn that I heard your voice say, 'Hello, Little Dove...'

I still don't know if you really said that, but if you did, I still want to know where a name like 'Little Dove' even entered your mind. Was it from one of your nursery rhymes you heard as a child? Was it name you heard on the telly and it stuck? It's not like I'm judging the name, it's actually a very nice one, I would like to know how it came to your mind like that. Sometimes I call her 'pup' or 'cadet' or even the traditional 'love', I could always use your name for her...but no...it's yours and I can't picture myself saying it to her. It sounds better hearing you say it.

I was done heating up the bottle after a few minutes, and so I gave it to you because you looked like you wanted to feed her. You shook your head and gave it back to me. You weren't ready yet, you still didn't hold her, that wasn't until much....much later...

I'm really good at getting off topic aren't I?

After Kylie was taken care of, it was our turn to eat. I asked you what you wanted and you responded with takeaway. I do admit that at the time, some General Tso's chicken sounded good and I'm sure that you weren't going to disagree. I would have let you order your usual spicy garlic chicken and white rice, but I was worried that your stomach wasn't going to agree with it and so I talked you into getting some soup. We settled on Wonton soup. You took small, careful sips, and occasionally sprinkled some of the egg foo young inside of it. As I ate I kept a watchful eye over you.

You, Kylie, and I spent a pleasant few hours inside of the living room. I was catching up on my telly and you were laying with me on the couch as I scratched your scalp. Kylie was in her swing seat, the fancy thing you insisted on buying for her. It played classical music and rocked her back and forth, she looked pretty content with everything. You were quiet, but I didn't think much of it. You were watching the show with me and I recall you liking it. Luther, it's called, and I think that you only watched it because you had a small crush on the main character.

When the second commercial break came on, I noticed that you were fidgeting. I tried to massage your scalp in hopes of calming you down but then you shot up and ran straight for the loo. I didn't have to be a genius to know why you did that, and soon enough, I heard the sounds of your retching and I knew that that was my cue to come and help you. As soon as I step into the bathroom, I find you hunched over and throwing up into the toilet. My look of sympathy was gone before you were able to turn around. You were breathing heavily and you didn't say anything to me. You were getting sick again, and I knelt down and rubbed circles on your back.

'Easy, Sherlock, take it easy.'

'I can't even eat food anymore, John!' You sounded so pained. You weren't one for eating but this, I never thought that I would see you upset over food. It took me nearly twenty minutes just to get you to eat a piece of toast! This was...it was horrible...I knew why you were so upset. You were upset because you weren't going to be able to be your own person anymore, you didn't want me Mother Henning you twenty-four seven, you weren't going to be you anymore and it terrified you. You leaned on me and then you closed your eyes. You weren't sleeping, but it was very taxing on you. You threw up all of the food you ate. I knew Sherlock, I knew that this was the beginning of the end.

I shut the telly off in the living room and helped you to our bed. I got Kylie out of the chair and placed her in her crib after giving her a kiss. I got into my pyjamas for what seemed like the first time in forever. And then, after I got settled in the bed, I heard you whispering, 'John...am I still...I'm still me, right? I'm still your Sherlock?'

This was all uncharacteristic for you, but I knew why you were doing it. You wanted reassurance that you were still you, and who better to tell you than me, right? I chuckled and told you that you were still you, no illness could ever change that. I told you that you were my Sherlock, and that I loved you and that we would make it through this together. I told you that it was just the two of us against the world, because frankly, I felt like the world was being pretty vindictive at the time. Your eyes danced away from mine and you looked like you were processing what I told you. You were mine, love, no matter what, you will always be my brilliant Sherlock.

And then I heard you say, 'Make love to me.' And, to be honest, it took me by surprise. I asked you to repeat that and then you did.

'Please, John. I need you to make love to me if I'm still your Sherlock, and if you still loved me and if you can still find me remotely attractive anymore...'

I had to stop you right there.

'Sherlock,' I said,'We don't need to have sex in order for me to find you sexually attractive. We don't need to have sex at all just to prove that we love each other.'

You looked like you knew this, you were just desperate for validation. It hurt to see you doubt me like that, Sherlock. To think that I would ever stop loving you because of the cancer, or because we hadn't made love in almost two months.

'Sherlock, do not doubt that I still love you because I do. You know that, right?' I asked. You nodded and responded with, 'I do, John, but I need to know, I need you to prove it to me. Otherwise, why are you still here then? You could have left by now, and you could've taken Kylie with you. Why are here taking care of me? Why...why are you being so...so good to me, John?'

There it was. You were still waiting for me to leave you. I told you time and time again, Sherlock, that I was in it for the long run and that I loved you more than I have loved anyone else in my whole life. I saw the tears prickling in your eyes. You really wanted me to answer that. You didn't want to feel like you were losing me because of the cancer. Oh, Sherlock...

I cupped your face and wiped away what I thought was a tear.

'Sherlock, there is absolutely no way I am going to leave you, especially now since you are so ill. If I have to tell you that I love you every morning when you wake up just to get it through your enormous brian, then I will. We took vows, in sickness and in health, remember? You are my husband and you mean more to me than I can possibly say. Please, Sherlock, stop expecting the worse from me.'

I waited and hoped that my words would get through to you. You nuzzled into me so that all I could see was your hair. I felt your cheek against my chest. I like to think that I got through to you, Sherlock. And I was glad that I did..."

 


	23. Chapter 23

"I tried so hard, Sherlock, in the weeks that came before you had to go to hospital. I woke up as early as I could to take care of Kylie, and then you would wake up and then I spent an hour of my life coaxing you into taking at least one bite of your toast. You were so thin, and you weren't making any progress, you would throw up as soon as you swallowed, and then you slept longer than what was normal. I knew that we were going to need real help, that we were going to need real medicine, and they only supplied it at Barts. You hated it, you hated me because I couldn't deny it anymore, I couldn't cater to your wish any longer. You and I both knew this day was coming, Sherlock, we lived in denial and thought that we could will it away. But we couldn't.

I had to take you to hospital. If I wanted you alive and with me, I needed to take you there so that you could get the proper care and treatment, the chemo alone wasn't doing enough for you. You protested so much, Sherlock, you shouted at me and told me that you would rather die than go back to hospital. I knew that you were lying, you were trying to dissuade me from taking you and you used every trick in the book. I think that you forgot that I knew you, and I knew when you were scared but deflected it with anger. I didn't stop your shouting, I didn't think about Kylie being frightened by your volume, I let you scream until your voice went hoarse.

'I'm not going to hospital, John, and that's final!' Remember how angry your words were? The way your voice returned to normal, just to yell at me? You were like a wounded animal, you felt trapped because you knew that no matter how much you argued and said that you were going to stay in the flat with me and Kylie, you were going to end up in the hospital either way. I couldn't see you suffer like that, love, not when there was a hospital only a few minutes away from us that could help you. You loved to remind me of my career as a doctor, but you failed to realize that I do need equipment in order to actually do my job if it called for such.

The day it happened, the day you realized that you had no choice but to go to Barts, you were sat on the bed recovering from your shouting match. I stood in front of you shaking my head at your stubbornness. At this point, I was angry, not as much as you, but I was pretty ticked.

'Do you think that I want this, Sherlock? To have you whisked away from Baker Street and placed in a hospital cot?' I felt like I was talking to a child, but in my defense, you were acting like one. Your curls were low and they were strewn about all over your face with the tips being damp from the sweat you produced while screaming. Your skin was deathly pale, and you were so worn from the tantrum you threw for the...what was it...the fifth time that week? At first, I was gentle, I let you vent and then I told you that it was for the best, but then you kept doing it, you kept on with the fighting and then a small part of me, the tiniest bit of my being wanted you gone. I hated myself for thinking that way, I guess it was the stress of everything that was happening. I didn't mean that, I didn't want you gone, I wanted you with me for as long as time would possibly allow us.

You snorted, 'If you didn't want this, John, then you wouldn't be so adamant about me going!'

I was cross, and if you hadn't stopped when you did, I think that I would have called Mycroft. I don't know what good that would have done, but I know that he would've gotten you admitted to Barts no matter how many times you yelled 'No' loud enough for the next door neighbors to hear us.

'I'm adamant,' I began, 'Because I want you to get the proper medical treatment, Sherlock. I can't keep taking you to chemo just to have you come back here and puke up the small amount of food that you're able to keep in your stomach! Look at your options, Sherlock, use that brain that you were blessed with! If you keep this ritual up for much longer, you'll...'

My sentence died off there. I knew the stakes. Cancer is not a friend to anyone. I knew what came with cancer, but I could not bring myself to say it, not to your face, not out loud. Hell, I can barely say it now. I could feel your eyes on me, Sherlock. I couldn't stop there and then walk out of the room in mid-rant, I had to say something, I had to make you see that that was the right choice.

'You'll...you'll be unhappier than you are now.' That sounded right to me. I saw your face change from a frustrated frown to one of resignment. You knew what I was going to say, and for as much as you complained, I know that you couldn't leave me alone, not when you had the choice to stay, and you did. Slowly, your body sank into the bed, and your eyes had trouble meeting my own. 

'I feel like this is a pathetic attempt at getting rid of me, John.' You breathed out. At least I discovered the reason for your stubbornness, and not wanting to go to hospital. You thought that I was getting rid of you to lessen my workload. Those thoughts came back to my head, that you were right and that I couldn't handle the task of taking care of you. That wasn't true, it never was, Sherlock.

'It'll be alright, love,' I said,'You know that I'll visit it you every day, me, Kylie, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, all of us. We'll stop off there every day of the week, you know that.'

I realized that I was doing a poor job at persuading you. You shook your head.

'No. I don't want them to see me in this state, I can barely stand letting you see me like this.'

'But, Sherlock, they all know what you're going through, Mrs. Hudson had to go through something like this years back...' I tried to reassure you, but it was failing and I knew that I would have to stop soon. You shook your head.

'That doesn't mean that she has to go through it again.'

'Sherl...'

'You have made your point clear, John. I need to go the hospital, this I can not evade anymore. However, I can stop anybody that I don't want coming to see me, and I will. I do not anybody else, save for you, to see me as I deteriorate in the hospital bed. Let me have this much, at least.'

I had to consider your bargain. You agreed to go to hospital, which was the whole point of our fight, but in exchange, you didn't want any of our friends to visit you at all. It would only be Kylie and I, and Mycroft, even if you wanted him there or not.

'You'll break Mrs. Hudson's heart, you know, by not permitting her to see you.' I wanted to see if you were mulling it over in your mind. If you really wanted this. You closed your eyes and slid under the covers of the bed with your back facing me.

'I don't want her to see me get worse. I want her, I want all of them, to remember me as the person that I was when I met them.'

I crossed my arms. You were getting ready for your third kip that day, and I had to feed Kylie, but I didn't leave before asking you another question.

'What about me, Sherlock?'

All I could see was the side of your eye as you turned your head slightly.

'I trust in your judgement, John. You can remember me as whoever you choose.'

I almost wanted to say that you weren't dead yet, but if I did, it would imply that you were going to die and that I was anticipating your death at least a little. I wasn't. The last thing I wanted was for you to die, Sherlock. I told you that we were going to Barts the next day. You didn't respond to me. I understood.

I understood completely..."

 


	24. Chapter 24

“The first night you had to spend away from me, it wasn’t such a pleasant time for me either, Sherlock. You grabbed my arm before I could leave the room. At this point, you were already situated, you had your bed, your hospital gown on, which I know that you loved so dearly, and plenty of needles coming from your arm. You were pleading with me through the eyes that I adore deeply, and you were begging me Sherlock, you wanted me to reconsider, you wanted me to change my mind and save you from the medical hell-hole that you were thrust into. I gave you a sad smile, I couldn’t do that. Your grip loosened as my hand made contact with your own. It was so clammy, and bony, and pale…

I kissed you and reassured you that I would come back tomorrow, and I would bring Kylie with me every time. You weren’t comforted by my words. I also asked to reconsider letting our friends see you while you were in hospital. Your answer remained the same. You couldn’t face their reactions to seeing you like that, you didn’t want them to see at your weakest moment; you told me.

‘This is not how I want to be remembered. Not as this Sherlock.’ You whispered to me once again. I told you that they weren’t going to pity you, they weren’t going to dote on you, they were going to do their jobs as friends and comfort you same as I would. You threatened me when you realized that I would not drop the topic.

‘If I see one of them enter this room, you won’t need to worry about visiting me anymore.’ Your voice darkened, and in that moment that I knew that you would rather go through your battle alone than have people help you. I was the only one who was allowed to see you like that. At that time, I didn’t understand why you wanted to spare them from your suffering, but not me, not your husband. It isn’t until now that I know that you needed me. You didn’t want to be alone and lonely, not then, you only wanted me because you thought that maybe I could protect you as I had always done in the past, and shield you from whatever monsters or criminals sought to destroy you. You thought that I was unshakeable, right? That I was Brave John Watson, the soldier, the captain, but little did you know…there are some fights that even I can’t win.

I told you that I had to return to Kylie, that I needed to check up on her and that I would return tomorrow after work. I promised you. You shook your head, displeased with me.

‘That’s too long from now, John. I don’t want to wait that long.’ Your tone wasn’t begging, and it wasn’t pleading either. It sounded informative, cool even, I knew that this was your façade. You let go of my arm and rested your hand underneath your head. Your eyes were lidded and I knew that the medicine was making you drowsy, I had to say my goodbyes to you then. I told you not to worry, you’ll be asleep for a long time, and by the time you wake up, and I would already be on my way to come see you. It was almost eight at night when you were admitted. I can see that I was doing poorly at reassuring you, and decided that it was best that I left. I told you that I loved you, and you sighed the same words back to me. You were unresponsive to my final kiss, you were already asleep. I caressed your curls, there were a few patches of missing hair, but it was barely noticeable to anybody who wasn’t looking for it. I told the nurse everything you were allergic to, my mobile number so that she, or your doctor could ring me if anything. I reluctantly told him the names of the people that weren’t permitted to see you and carefully listed the names. It felt like a betrayal to them, but I didn’t want you to get upset and make yourself sicker. I feel like I should have told them after I did it, I couldn’t and I resigned to letting them find out themselves.

True to my word, I dashed back to our flat to pick up Kylie, and then took a cab to hospital after work. I approached the front desk, gave them my name, and then headed up to your room. You took to laying on your side in the bed, complained about the bed hurting your back because of its hardness. Your eyes were always closed when we entered, you weren’t really asleep; you just lost yourself in thoughts. Your smile was small, but I was always glad to see it. I would sit in the chair placed next to your bed, with Kylie sat in my lap as we chatted. I told you about my day at work and how dreadful some of my patients were, and you laid there and you listened. You really listened, not like what you used to do back at the flat where it went in one ear and out the other, you were genuinely engaged in what I had to say. I know that sometimes you did actually listen to me complain but it wasn’t like how you did then. Kylie grew, she was close to…what was it…I believe she was four months nearing five. She was learning too, she started to make little noises here and there, and she smiled a lot more. You would stroke her hair that was close in color to yours, it had to be the father’s hair color because it sure as hell wasn’t Susanne’s. Kylie smiled and laughed at you when we came to visit, she grabbed your finger once and you kissed her forehead for it. You never did much talking, but when you did, you would always bring up a past case, or a vacation we took, or little details from our wedding night that only you would remember. You were becoming weaker by the day, love, your energy went faster than I have ever seen, and your mood fluctuated every hour of the day. You would smile on some days, then you would cry on others and then hate me for ‘imprisoning’ you at Barts. On those days, I didn’t bring Kylie with me because I didn’t want you to hurt her when you lashed out at me. You would have felt so guilty afterward. For a while, I kept the routine up, visiting you with Kylie and other times without Kylie, and then I would head home to begin the cycle anew.

Until the day I walked to your room to find all of our friends parked outside of your door looking as pissed as ever.

‘John!’ Mrs. Hudson’s voice called to me. She marched over to me, as well as Greg and Molly with Kylie in her arms, sleeping. I think she forgot the carrier at home. They knew that you were back in the hospital, I told them that much, but not of your request. I gulped as they all marched over to me. I figured that I had about three minutes to calm them down before I ended up lying in a hospital bed next to you.

‘This young lady here refuses to let us see Sherlock! She says that we’re not allowed to see him, bollocks!’ If Mrs. Hudson could spit fire, she would have. Molly impatiently tapped her foot before she decided to chime in.

‘I told her that we were close with him and she still didn’t let us in! Why, John?’

Greg was pretty miffed too, but he kept quiet. He just folded his arms and glared at me while the two women, and the baby, tore my head off. I think Kylie was only shouting because everybody was doing it too. I held my hand up in the air to halt their yelling and tried to explain without throwing you under the bus and making myself sound like an arse. It was quite possibly one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

I said something along the lines of, ‘Sherlock and I talked about this earlier, the day before he got here. He told me that he didn’t want any of you to visit him here.’

Mrs. Hudson look put out, as I said that she would, and crossed her arms.

‘Whatever for?’

I scratched the back of my neck uneasily. It was like defusing a bomb. Molly was still ticked off, but she looked to have calmed herself down enough to actually listen to what I was saying, or, trying to say.

‘He said that he didn’t want you to see him in here. He wants you all to remember him as the person he was before…this.’

Everybody forgot their anger once I said that. They all shot looks at each other, and Mrs. Hudson muttered ‘Oh dear’ underneath her breath. Molly started to toy with Kylie’s clothes, fixing her shirt or her hair, minor things like that. Greg was facing down, it was like he couldn’t bear to look me in the eye after what I said. I told you Sherlock, they were going to be heartbroken either way.

‘I could try and make him come round, if you lot really want to see him. He’s expecting me now anyway.’ I tried to lighten the mood, to make them forget their sadness I guess, but we were all a somber lot, weren’t we?

Nobody stopped me when I headed towards your room. I don’t think they knew how to react to that. I closed the door behind me and peeked out through the window. They were all quiet now, and they were sat in the chairs that were in front of the room. You were sitting up in bed, watching me with careful eyes.

‘John.’ You breathed out. I turned to you and gave a smile. You didn’t smile back.

‘What’s going on out there? Who are you looking at?’

I couldn’t respond to either of those questions so I stood there and stammered like an idiot while you tore me to shreds with your eyes. I let out a sigh and told you that our friends were waiting to see you outside. Your eyes nearly popped out your socket. You moved a bit to try and get a good view through the small window that was built in your door. You couldn’t see anything from where you were sitting, but that didn’t stop you.

‘What? Are they still here, did they leave?’ You were sort of talking to me, and sort of talking to yourself. I nodded, just in case you were talking to me. I told you that the nurse wouldn’t let them in because I told her that they were not permitted to see you.

‘So why are they still here?’ Your heart-rate monitor was beeping quicker as you tossed and turned and I was getting nervous. I responded with, ‘Because they care about you, Sherlock, that’s why!’ Your indifference towards them agitated me, I’m not going to lie. You stopped moving and then stared at me as you started to speak. You said, ‘I understand that John, truly I do. I’m keeping it in their best interest to keep them away from me.’

I couldn’t wrap my head around what you were saying. You told me that you were helping them by causing them more pain and I just wanted you to give me a reasonable, and understandable response. You did. I told you to indulge me, which you reluctantly did.

‘What do you think they’ll expect to see, John? You and I both know that I’m not getting any better. I’ll be causing them more pain by letting them see my body wither away. I won’t allow that, I cannot allow that.’

I shuffled my feet. ‘Sherlock, I’m not asking to let them visit you daily as I do, but give them this at least. Mrs. Hudson is moments away from having a breakdown in the hallway.’

You contemplated it and then you closed your eyes and let out a sigh.

‘They have five minutes in here.’

My eyebrow rose. You huffed again.

‘Five minutes and thirty seconds. That’s the highest that I’m going.’

You were a piece of work, love.

‘Sherlock.’ I uttered. You sucked your teeth this time.

‘No more than ten minutes and that is the limit. No more, no less.’

I smiled and pecked your cheek. I left the room and returned with them. Mrs. Hudson was the first to launch herself onto you. I smirked at the sight. She let go and then began fiddling with everything on you, she tried to fix your gown, she messed around with your curls and when she talked to you, it was almost as if we were back at the flat. She asked you if you were eating, and you neglected to tell her that you weren’t. Then she asked if you were comfortable, if you needed your pillow fluffed, or if you were thirsty. You smiled politely and entertained her. I think you missed that, her mother henning, I mean. She talked to you for at least half of the time you allotted them, but I wasn’t about to tell you that.

Then Molly’s turn came to chat you up. She decided to have a conversation about the oddities that she encountered in the morgue while you’ve been away. Then she progressed into the usual gossip that floated around workspaces, you weren’t too interested in that part, but you let her finish that time and I was thankful for that. By the time she was done, I’d say that six minutes had passed by then, but did you know that? Of course you did. You were having fun, Sherlock. Or the closest bit to it since you hadn’t solved a case for a while. You didn’t even notice me sitting in the chair with Kylie in my arms, watching you talk to our friends that you had been trying to shut out ever since you came back to hospital. I wished that you didn’t automatically try to do that all of the time.

Greg talked with you about the crimes that have been committed as of late, I’ve heard of a few of the ones he was describing from the telly. If I’m not mistaken, you solved a few of them while he was giving you the rundown. He didn’t have much to say, and he probably had a mind to return to the Yard while the culprits you provided for him were still fresh in his mind. He didn’t leave with the group, he clapped a hand on your shoulder and gave you a comforting smile before he was off. Gave me a short wave as we made eye contact. Molly’s shift was starting soon, so she told us that she had to head out soon. Mrs. Hudson said something about ringing her sister, I think she just got hip surgery at the time. They were there for a whole half hour and you said nothing of it, if you even realized. I’m sure you did, but you missed their company, even if you refused to admit it.

They left, but not before they talked to me in the hallway. They told me that weren’t going to talk about your illness and make you feel worse about it, they said that they didn’t want to focus on that. They only wanted to see you again, Sherlock, just like I told you. We are a grim bunch but we know our limits. Of course they felt bad for you, but they were never going to say that to your face, they know you Sherlock. They left, Mrs. Hudson had Kylie in tow with her. I trusted her to get home safe, that’s her grand-daughter, practically, and Mrs. Hudson is a tough one, she wouldn’t let any harm come to Kylie. This was an added bonus for us because that meant that I could be alone with you for a time.

I entered the room and you were sitting up in bed. You looked healthier than most days, or maybe it was all in my head. You were bunching up the blanket on the bed. You didn’t even respond to my entrance. I stood in front of the door and waited for you to say something. The silence was deafening.

‘Thirty whole minutes, John.’ You turned to face me. You didn’t look very amused.

‘Shut up. You enjoyed it, I know you did.’ I was almost laughing, but then the beep from one of your machines stopped me entirely.

You gave a wry smile and said, ‘How can you be so sure?’

That’s when I made my way over to the bed and took a seat on the side. I told you that you enjoyed their company because if you didn’t, they would have been shown the door as soon as you tired of them. You chuckled and shook your head.

‘Well it has been awhile since I’ve heard Mrs. Hudson bemoan the state of my curls. Lestrade’s cases were interesting. And Molly…I feel like I haven’t heard her voice in a long time.’ You uttered softly. I said that they were very glad that you let them in the room, I got a shrug in response. You told me that it was at my behest, of which you weren’t entirely wrong.

Our day ended with me sharing the small bed with you. I couldn’t sleep that time because Kylie wasn’t with me, but that didn’t stop you from falling asleep. You gripped my shirt tightly like you didn’t want me to leave, but I had to. I kissed your cheek, and then your forehead. I whispered goodbye and then left the room while you slept. Later that night, I was hit with an immense feeling of loneliness as I laid in our bed. It was particularly bad this night because I remembered what it was like to share a bed with you earlier. That was the first night I had Kylie sleep in the bed with me. I took her out of her crib, she was fast asleep, and then I set her gently on your side and placed pillows around the edge so that she wouldn’t fall off. I did the same thing I did to you at the hospital to Kylie. Two kisses and a stroke of the hair. The only difference was that she lacked your curls.

That night was a lot longer than most, and then the days that followed, seemed even longer…”


	25. Chapter 25

“I…I should have seen it coming, Sherlock. I should…I did see it coming. You became so quiet when I visited you, and you weren’t eating much, complained that it didn’t sit well with you. You…you barely moved when I was there. You just smiled and listened to me talk and I knew, love that you didn’t have much longer. You were so weak and you looked so fragile, everything you hated, I should say. I would ask for you, and the nurse would take me to your room, per ritual, and there you would be, awaiting my presence with that smile on your face. You watched me as I took a seat, sometimes I would bring Kylie with me, other times I wouldn’t. I would great you casually, and you would reply verbally, and most times, you would just nod your head in acknowledgement. The air between us was tense, not because we had issues with our relationship, but neither of us knew how to react. What was I going to say to you? How was I going to bring up conversation without those horrid thoughts distracting me, Sherlock? How could you sit there with that calm and collected face while you fell apart inside? How could both of us do it?

There was one day, about two or three weeks before you…before. I came into the room with Kylie in my arms and took my seat. We didn’t say much, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I think I already told you about the events that transpired at work earlier that week, and you seemed mildly entertained. I opened my mouth to greet you, but you cut me off and said, ‘John, please, don’t treat me like I’m some random patient. Treat me like I’m your husband.’

Your smile softened and your eyes glazed over. I felt bad, I was acting rather cold towards you, and I do apologize for that, Sherlock. God knows that you needed the company during that time. Kylie made some sounds of excitement once she saw you. You bent down and placed a short kiss on her forehead.

‘I’m glad papa decided to bring you this time.’ You whispered to her. I’ve neglected to bring her those times because I was always in such a rush to see you after work that I never stopped off at the flat to get her. It was selfish of me, I know, I can hear you scolding me already.

And then, you held your arms out for her. I was shocked, Sherlock, the last thing I expected you to do was express a need to hold her. You understand that you hadn’t so much as hugged her since she was born. Yes, you have come a long way since then, you kissed her and smiled at her and even addressed her whenever she was around you. It never got farther than that, sadly, and I remember wishing that maybe one day, you would finally acknowledge the fact that you’re her father and that she’s your daughter. I was so glad that that day finally came. I passed her off into your arms and was utterly surprised when you held her correctly in your arms. You’re not stupid, I know that, but you were inexperienced when it came to children, let alone infants. She flashed you her gums as you sat her in your lap. You examined her for a moment, and then you laughed and you hugged her to your chest. I think the realization hit you then. I heard you whisper her name, and I watched as you brushed some of her hair back with a smile.

‘Kylie’ you started to say, ‘I may not get the chance to say this to you later, so, while I still remember, let me say it now.’

You hugged her to your chest. Such a rare act of vulnerability and compassion on your part, Sherlock. I thought that I might have been in the wrong room for a split second.

‘I sincerely apologize, Kylie, for waiting this long to finally show you the attention you deserve as my daughter. I am so sorry that we didn’t have longer to get know each other, I would have liked to see the woman you grow into. I know that you won’t remember me when you get older, you are only a baby, but I trust that John will never let you go a day without mentioning something of me. Perhaps our cases, or our marriage, or the day we first met, it matters little to me.’

…You pressed your lips to her forehead again. Gently, this time.

‘I would also like to tell you now that I will miss you. You’ve only been with me five months, and I’ve already come to care for you as much as I do John.’

You spoke with no feeling at all, your voice sounded strained, but I think it had more to do with your worsening condition. You were already saying your goodbyes, Sherlock. You were ready…or maybe you weren’t…maybe you were only trying to be brave for me, or for yourself. I didn’t want you to be brave, love. I didn’t want you to be the cold, sociopath that you thought yourself to be. I wanted you to be Sherlock Holmes-Watson, the human, my husband.

‘I’m going to give you back to papa now, you’ll forgive me Kylie, but holding you isn’t bringing me the happiness that I thought it would. In fact, it’s making me feel quite the opposite.’

You handed back over to me and then placed your hands on your lap. You smiled at me, and I didn’t know what to do so I returned the smile and then I left, not before I placed a kiss on your lips. I felt like there was nothing much to say after that. How could I possibly go back to having casual conversation after you practically said goodbye to Kylie? This was only the beginning, though. After this, came three long, depressing weeks.

On the first week, you only wanted to see me. You didn’t want Kylie with me, or any of our friends, they weren’t allowed, it was just you and me. We didn’t say much, but we preferred it that way. We would save that for later. When it was absolutely necessary. On the second week, you allowed our friends to come and see you. One last time…

I’m not sure of what you said to them, you had me step out the room for each guest. All I know is that they came out sobbing, well, Mrs. Hudson and Molly did. Greg, he was hanging in there. He wasn’t about to break down in the middle of a hospital. Mycroft never showed up, not until later. I was angry at him, why would he do this to you? What was so bloody important that he couldn’t come and visit his own little brother in the hospital? I was stewing in my anger until I heard the familiar tapping of his brolly. He sauntered past me without so much as a glance, and into your room. I had half a mind to give him a whack, but forced myself to remain in the chair. The fact that he came at all meant something to me, and I’m sure to you as well.

I couldn’t hear all of the conversation, mind you. He did leave the door cracked, so I listened in for a bit. Sorry, Sherlock.

He was talking to you in hushed tones, like you were a child and he was telling you a bedtime story.

‘You remember that, don’t you Sherlock? You remember how he never feared anything? Not even the firm hand of mummy.’

I heard what sounded like you laughing. It sounded like it hurt. You said something back to him, but your voice, it was almost too weak for my liking. I shut my eyes and pretended that maybe I was sleeping, that this was a kip that I’ve yet to wake up from again. That this had to be some sort of nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. I had to be sleeping with you back at the flat, love. This wasn’t what our life had become!

‘…You weren’t quite the same after that day,’ Mycroft continued. ‘You stopped playing the yard, and you even stopped seeking me out for company.’

He was talking about Redbeard. I remember you telling me the story of your beloved childhood dog that was put down when you were only a boy. From the way you described it to me, I knew that this was still a very touchy topic for you. I was only happy that you trusted me enough to tell me such a personal story. I thought that it was odd for Mycroft to bring up your dead dog when…but I heard you laughing and so I thought that maybe he knew what he was doing.

You two talked for close to an hour, he emerged from the room as cool and stoic as someone could look after talking with their sickly brother. This time, our eyes met, and his brows softened. He didn’t look like Mister British Government to me, but Mycroft Holmes, the over-protective brother. He didn’t say a word to me, he turned on his heel and left the corridor almost as quickly as he returned.

I didn’t speak of it with you. What he said to you, and what you responded with was your business. He still hasn’t confided in me since…everything.

Those three weeks were dreadful, Sherlock. Each day, the doctor would come in and say, ‘He hasn’t got long now.’

Did I look like I wanted to hear that news every time I went to see you? You would always listen to the doctor’s updates, and keep your sullen face on as he left the room. I would try to hold you, but you would stiffen. I didn’t want us to be distant, not then. Not at that moment. I let go of you, and then I laid down next to you in the bed. I didn’t want to hear it, I didn’t even want you to bring it up.

I didn’t want to hear your goodbye, Sherlock. I did everything I could to make the days pass by without fear of having to give me the mournful words that you gave everybody else. I couldn’t bear to have you staring at me with those sad eyes, and tell me that you regret that we didn’t have more time together. I didn’t want to hear you apologize for something that you couldn’t have helped. I was in denial during your last days, Sherlock. I would come in with that stupid smile on my face, and I talk with you like we were back at the flat and it had been just another Friday. I failed to notice, I mean I willfully ignored your weakened body, your slowed heart-rate, and your heavy eyes. I just wanted to lay with you and to kiss you and to tell you that we were going to be alright while you stared at me with those skeptic eyes. You knew what I was doing, but you let me do it anyway. You attempted to please me, Sherlock. You wanted to make me happy, but that wasn’t the way. It wasn’t the fucking way, Sherlock.

You finally decided that you had enough. This was the day before you…no wait…at least three or four days. I won’t talk about your appearance then, because I simply can’t.

You told me to sit with you on the bed, and I obliged. You held the both of my hands and for a long time, we just stared into each other’s eyes. I let out a tired and defeated smile, and you returned it.

‘John…’ I cut you off before you could even begin. I shook my head and told you that it wasn’t fucking fair, and that I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend for a little longer. You told me that we couldn’t any longer. I was forced to hear your words, but looking back on it now, I was glad that I did.

‘I’m aware that you have…difficulty with what’s happening to me, and you have every right to be. No husband wants to see their spouse die of something so slow and so painful. I know it hurts you, John, to look at me and see this…this husk that once was the man you fell in love with.’

I stopped you and told you that I was still in love with you. Nothing would ever change that.

‘I need to tell you now, before you tell me to shut up, or change the subject entirely that I love you. From the moment you walked through that door at Bart’s, I knew that you would change my life. I wasn’t sure for the better or worse, but I was willing to see which, and I think it’s safe to say that you changed me for the better.’

We both shared a short laugh. You always had a way of doing that. Of making me smile no matter how much I didn’t want to.

‘I’ve also been wanting to thank you. I wanted to thank you for befriending me, and for loving me when nobody else did. Thank you for solving all of those cases with me, thank you for putting up with all of my terrible habits as a flatmate. Thank you for the company you have provided me after years of solitude, thank you for listening to me when I play my violin. Thank you for defending me, even if that put you at risk too.’

Your eyes were glazing over again, and you made my own do the same. No crying, nobody cried.

‘Thank you for marrying me, even though I told you time and time again that I would ruin you. And thank you for being you. For being John Watson, my John Watson.’

The smile on my face could not be contained. You would have never said these things to me on an ordinary day, if you did, it wouldn’t be this straight-forward. Then, I wished that you hadn’t said all of those wonderful words to me, and that I wished that I said something remotely close to yours. All I said was ‘Holmes-Watson.’ You grinned at the correction and then you let me hold you, proper that time. I never let you go that night, nope, I wouldn’t dare. I didn’t want you to go anywhere.

But you did. You…you…you…left…me later that week. I had you….oh god….I had you in my arms that day. You looked so peaceful…and I remember…..I remember….I kissed you…..and then I told you that I loved you very much…..I do Sherlock….God I love you so much….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter left!


	26. Epilogue

John sniffed. The air was bitter, his hands were freezing, but he didn’t move from that spot. He smiled and blinked whatever tears tried to force their way through as he recounted his tale with Sherlock. They buried him where his fake grave was. John gave the order to place him there, to fill that empty spot with the person that was inscribed on the headstone. John closed his eyes as he remembered the funeral that took place some days after Sherlock’s death. He forgot which church it was in, the church they were married in. It mattered little to him the location, all that mattered that day was Sherlock.

John could count on his fingers all the people that attended his husband’s funeral. There weren’t many people there. Yes, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg were there. What kind of friends would they be if they didn’t show up? A few other people came, John didn’t know most of them, must have been some clients that actually liked Sherlock. They were a rare sort. He saw Angelo there, though he kept to himself. John tried to overlook the fact that he was sobbing in the back. Mike was there, he clapped a comforting hand on John’s shoulder, careful of the baby that was in his arms. No words were exchanged between the two, just a smile full of warmth, and another full of bitterness.

Sherlock’s parents came. They hadn’t spoken a word to him since he got sick, if they ever knew about it, which they probably did. Mummy Holmes cried on her husband’s shoulder as they approached the coffin that held their youngest son. No parent should have to outlive their children. Mycroft made a brief appearance, he smiled at John, ignored his parents, and stared at Sherlock for so long that John was sure his eyes were going to burst into flames. John looked on as Mycroft was no doubt sharing a few words between himself and his brother. When he was finished, he ran a hand through Sherlock’s curls and left the chapel.

John was surprised when he saw Sally and Anderson walk into the church with Greg. They were dressed accordingly, and they looked somber enough. John was angry at them. All the times they sneered at, taunted, mocked, and harassed Sherlock while he was alive, and they had the gall to show up as if they were good friends with him. John had half a mind to tell them to leave, but they paid their respects and left as soon as they were done. At least they knew their limits.

John opened his eyes again, and started to speak.

“After that day, we all sort of drifted apart, Sherlock. Without you, I…none of us could function properly. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t bear to come up and clean your things anymore, she would always tell me that you hate with when she fusses with your stuff. I never responded to her. Greg, he stopped me for a cuppa one day. He said that crime scenes, Scotland Yard as a whole was a lot different without you there. He told me that even though they didn’t have the greatest amount of respect for you, he knows that Anderson and Sally regret their treatment of you, at least, partially. He’s getting on well, I hear. He remarried, and he’s even expecting a child with the new wife later this year. Molly would always pause in the lab part of the morgue, so she tells me, and she says that she always expects to find you there, messing with the microscope, or snooping about like you always did. I’m not quite sure about how she’s doing these days. I’ve had no business going to Bart’s and…you know…I’ve not been on any cases for some time.”

John trailed off. He stared at the black headstone some more, and then he grimaced. He kept on talking.

“Mycroft, we’ve only spoken once since everything happened, he asked about Kylie, and then he wished me well and hung up the phone. I know that he’s known for doing stuff like that but, I’m worried for him now. All he had in the world was you and you’re…gone.” John’s brows furrowed as he choked out the last word. He had to wrap things up, it was getting late, people were staring at the man who sat in front of his late husband’s grave and talked to it all day. He didn’t care, they all could sod off for all he cared. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt the envelope that he brought with him. He pulled it out and showed the tombstone the childish scrawl on it. It said ‘To Angel Daddy: From Kylie’. It was written in black crayon.

“Kylie…uh, Kylie wrote this for you. She asked if I could take her with me today, to come down here. I told her that this was just between daddy and I. She’s, uh, she’s a good girl, Sherlock. She follows instructions well, she’s the star pupil of her class, and she’s just a beautiful thing really. She…she turned five a month ago. She’s just turned five and already learning how to read and write. She told me to give this letter to you and I…I’ll read it.”

He opened it up and pulled out the piece of paper that was inside. He cleared his throat, he already knew that he was going to have trouble reading this to Sherlock.

“’Dear Angel Daddy…’ She calls you that because one day she asked me where you were…and I told her in the sky…she pieced it together that you were an angel and so…but you always said that you weren’t on the side of angels, I can’t bring myself to correct her…”

He focused on the paper again and started over.

“’Dear Angel Daddy,   
                                    Papa always talks about you. He would always tell me about all the cases that you two went on together. You sound pretty cool.’”

John chuckles.

“’Papa misses you. He gets so sad when I ask about you. I don’t like to make Papa sad. He told me the story of how you met. He said that you were brilliant.’ The spelling is off, but never mind that. ‘I asked him why you left us and he said that it wasn’t your choice. He told me that you got sick when I was a baby and I didn’t get to remember you…’”

John was blinking back tears again.

“’I asked him what you looked like (I know what you look like I only wanted Papa to tell me), and Papa said that you had hair as dark as mine and blue eyes. He said you were handsome’ She spelled it handsum, mind you. ‘I drew you, so that I might make Papa happy. I drew a cloud and then I drew you with angel wings. When I showed him the picture, he got sad again and he looked like he might cry but he didn’t. Papa’s strong. He hung up my drawing next to a photo of you and him when you got married, and then one when I was a baby.’”

John had to take a deep breath to finish off the letter.

“’Sometimes I get sad too. I get sad when Papa gets sad, or when he tells me a story about you. I get sad when Papa tells me to sleep with him because that means he’s lonely. I get sad because you’re my daddy, now you’re my angel daddy, and I don’t know who you are. Papa loves you so much, but you’re gone and so now it’s just me and Papa. Sometimes I dream that we’re all together, and we’re happy, but then I wake up and remember that you’re in the sky and you’re smiling at Papa and me.

I’m sorry we didn’t get more time together. I’m sorry that you got sick.

Papa says that I can write to you, whenever I want to talk to you. So that’s what I’ll do.

Love, KHW’”

John folded the letter back up and then placed it back in the envelope. He bit his lip as he set it on top of the mound of dirt, and buried it with one hand. He rose back up and tried to think of something to say.

“You told me, back at hospital that you didn’t want anybody to see you in that state because that’s not how you wanted them to remember you. You also told me that you had faith in the way I remember you and I’ve decided to tell you. Those last few months, I won’t remember you like that. I’ll always remember you as the brilliant consulting detective who could solve cases in minutes, the flatmate who had the worst living habits, the best friend I’ve ever had…the sexiest man I’ve ever met…my saving grace…my…my husband Sherlock Holmes-Watson. That’s all you’ll ever be to me, Sherlock.”

John shuffled his feet and let a few minutes of silence pass before he started up again.

“I’ve got to get Kylie now. She’s with Mrs. Hudson. Her nursery school is not far from Baker Street. We don’t live there, anymore…I can’t…there’s too many memories and I can’t handle all of that at the moment. Mrs. Hudson, she picks her up and I stop off and get her. I should probably…get going, yeah?”

He placed his hand on the cold tombstone. Then he stuffed it back inside of his pocket after giving Sherlock a salute. He turned and then made his way towards the exit of the cemetery.

_‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’_

_‘Come along, John! The Game is on!’_

_‘This is my friend, John Watson.’_

_‘I’d be lost without my blogger.’_

_‘John…you are amazing, you are fantastic!’_

_‘…John Watson, I love you...’_

_‘I, Sherlock Holmes, take John Watson to be my lawfully wedded husband…’_

_‘My John…’_

_‘Thank you for befriending me, and for loving me when nobody else did…’_

_‘Thank you for marrying me…’_

_‘Thank you for being John Watson, my John Watson.’_

He heard Sherlock saying all of those things, and he can still see his husband giving that warm smile as he says it. John wipes at the tears that have managed to fall and sniffs to try and stop anymore from falling. He could still hear Sherlock’s voice, ringing throughout his head and his eyes were now glazed over.

_‘Just the two of us against the world.’_

Sherlock said that to him once. John believed him too, that it would always be them. But now, it’s John Watson-Holmes, the lonely soldier. The widowed father.

John grimaced as he felt a pain go through his leg. It was only a matter of time before it came back. His limp.

He has Kylie now, he has something to live for. He tells himself this for the rest of the walk over to Baker Street. He doesn’t say much to Mrs. Hudson. He just tells her the events at work and leaves with Kylie in tow. He usually told Sherlock about work. Kylie talks to him with a smile on her face. She talks about the work they did in class, and the friend that she made at her table, and the sticker that she earned for good behavior. He’s genuinely interested, but his smile doesn’t convey that.

Then she talks about Angel Daddy again.

John can feel his hand shaking. He shoves it into his pocket.

The tremors are coming back.

Then came the nightmares, and then came the PTSD.

John makes a plan in his head to see Ella later that week. After he visits Sherlock.

He smiles at Kylie and gives her a kiss as she rambles on.

Later that night, when they’re lying in the bed together, John plants a kiss on Kylie’s forehead and then her cheek. He nestles her closer to him and shuts his eyes. He has to fight, for her, if not himself.

_‘I think it could work.’_

He hears Sherlock say that to him in his head. If Sherlock thinks it could work, then maybe, just maybe it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might make this a series, I think that this has the potential for at least two more parts. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for the kudos and the views and the comments and the bookmarks! I'm honored that you guys like my writing! I hope to make more in the future! 
> 
> Thanks again!


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